Father's Day And Incest

I know that Father's Day, and Mother's Day too, for that matter, can be hard days to get through if you were abused as a child by your parents. You just don't have the good feelings that you would have if your parents were good at their jobs. You can even envy your friends who had good parents. You can take it so far as to resent that your own kids have good parents. No one says feelings have to be rational. They aren't always. 

I decided a long time ago, before my dad died, that I could celebrate the fact that my husband Daniel is a good father to our two children. I could teach my children to honor their father in the way that I can't honor my dad who sexually abused me as a child. 

Daniel is a good dad. He has always played an active part in the lives of our children. He changed diapers and cleaned up messes as well as being there for the good parts of being a dad. I was more the disciplinarian but most moms are. Daniel played with the kids more and made us all laugh. He has always been there for our children and still is today with our children moving into their late 30's. I think he has always tried to be the dad that he didn't have as a child. Daniel's dad was 55 when he was born and health issues prevented him from doing the recreational things that Daniel made sure that he did with our two children when they were growing up. Daniel's dad died shortly after retirement when Daniel was still in high school.

Neither of our grown children have had a chance to wish their dad Happy Father's Day yet because he went to a reenactment this weekend in Mississippi. He will be home around early evening probably. I know he had a good time because he and I have talked briefly a few times since he left but not today. I don't know if he realizes that today is Father's Day. I didn't until sometime Friday afternoon. 

Happy Father's Day, Daniel and to any of my readers who are good dad's to your children.

As I came on Facebook today and also checked my emails, I read other blogger friends' articles about Father's Day and so I am sharing those links with you here. They all talk about the mixed emotions that survivors share about their parents and why Father's Day is difficult for them.
Patricia

Fathers Day! @
http://speak4change.com/blogging/fathers-day/ 

Father's Day - Lessons learned, Love lost, Life Reclaimed @
http://www.mskinnermusic/home/fathers-day-lessons-learned-love-lost-life-reclaimed/ 

When Dad Enables Mom in Emotionally Abusive Family Relationships @
http://emergingfrombroken.com/when-dad-enables-mom-in-emotionally-abusive-family-relationships/ 

A Dad Issue From My Past Still Affecting Me Today

As the holidays are fast approaching, I have noticed several things from my past coming to the surface. My mom has been in two of my dreams recently. Rarely does either of my parents show up in my dreams. Two nights in a row is a sign of something but I am not sure what, other than the anniversary of her death is coming up on November 20. Maybe this will be a year that I do some more grieving. Maybe there is something that she is trying to teach me but I don't know what it is yet. I will wait to see if I get anything more from her or my dreams.

Everywhere I turn for the past few weeks, some survivor is talking about the silent screams of their abuse. I am familiar with those silent screams held inside of you as a child being physically, sexually abused by an adult. You hold the screams in because of the fear that once they start, you may not be able to stop them. You hold them in because, if your abuser can't deal with your tears, he certainly can't deal with your screams of pain and horror over being raped by a grown man when you are just a small child. You hear the screams in your head but no one else does but another survivor who has them too. I know those silent screams are still there inside of me but have no idea what to do with them other than acknowledge their existence like I am doing now.

Over the past few days, I have been part of two conversations in different groups. In both conversations, I expressed a difference of opinion to the other person's opinion. Both times, my opinion was rejected, which is their right. What is not their right or anyone else's is to say that I am still in victim mode or creating drama just because I voiced a different opinion. I got angry. In talking it out with some friends, I realized that the source of my anger was an old issue from my dad and his controlling behavior. As a child, until I left home at 19, I was not allowed to have a difference of opinion with my dad.

Expressing my opinion is important to me as an adult. I work hard to not do it in an aggressive, abusive way like my dad did with his laws that he stated in my childhood. Everything my dad said was to be accepted as law in our house. He was the dictator. I am not a child to be ruled by anyone today. I am an adult and I do often have an opinion. I respect the opinions of others and I hope they will respect mine.

I can't change or fix another person. I can try to understand them and their view point. I don't mind that others have a view point different than mine. Those differences are what make the world an interesting place to me. When another person starts name calling or treating me like I am inferior to them, then I feel as I did as a child who was not respected, not listened to and not allowed to have an opinion. Don't call me a victim or say that I am creating drama just because I express an opinion different than yours. I have learned not to strike out at a person in anger. I will regret what I say each time. I have learned that if I am angry, it is my issue, usually from the past, that I need to work on.  Usually I work on an issue by writing about it, as I am doing now. The other person's issues are not my business.

Another person's air of superiority can only affect me if I am feeling inferior. I have come to know that a superiority complex means the person is feeling inferior inside and afraid of others seeing it. I know because I used to do this with a sarcastic tongue. What we often see in others is because it is also a part of us. I have been there, done that, when I was younger so I know the fears behind the superiority and the sarcasm. Both keep others from getting too close so they can't hurt you. Today if I use sarcasm it is only in fun and never to hurt someone else.

We all have our own issues to deal with sometimes on a daily basis. Just know that your issues are yours. If someone else triggers you, it isn't their responsibility to fix it or you. It is yours. If you are angry or scared or sad because of something that was said or because of a situation you are in, look to yourself, usually your past, to find the answers. If you concentrate on the other person and what they said or what they did, you won't heal you. You will just add more woundedness to what you already have. My computer says that "woundedness" isn't a word. Well, it should be. Neither is "thriver" and again, it should be. As survivors, we are changing the world, one person at a time. We are inventing a new vocabulary to help us do it. Hope you are loving this late Sunday afternoon, my friends.
Patricia

No Tears for my Father: a true story of incest Book Review

Viga Boland is an online friend that I met because we are both advocates for ourselves and for other survivors of incest. When I heard that Viga was writing her memoir, No Tears for my Father: a true story of incest, I told her I wanted to read it and would do a book review afterwards.

As Viga says on the back of her book " 'Victims' own voices are the best weapons against child sexual abuse.' " In some ways, Viga tells my story. In others, Viga's story is distinctly her own and no one else's, as is true for all survivor stories. No Tears for my Father comes with a Trigger Warning Advisory for the safety of those incest survivors who may experience flashbacks or emotional pain from reading the sometimes graphic scenes of Viga's memories.

Viga Boland was born in Australia in 1946. Like many children of the 1940's and 1950's, Viga was taught by her parents to do what the adults in her life told her to do. It didn't matter who the adult was, they were in control if you were a child. This one rule, above all others, made it easy for Viga to become a victim of childhood sexual abuse and incest.

Viga, throughout her book, compares her dad to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Dr. Jekyll was the smiling, loving father and friend to a lonely little girl who was taught that she was ugly and stupid by the angry, often violent, and unpredictable Mr. Hyde.  Mr. Hyde was physically and emotionally abusive to Viga and to her mother.

When Viga Boland was 11 years old, her family moved to Canada, where the physical and emotional abuse continued and at the age of 12, Viga's dad started to also sexually abuse her. The secrets, the lies, the shame and the blame of incest that make a survivors life a living hell began too.  Secrets such as "Let's not tell mama. It would hurt her." "If not for you, I would be having an affair with some other woman and your mother would be hurt." (These aren't exactly Viga's words. They were lies I was told too.) The coercion, the threats and the fear that are part of the daily life of an incest survivor, all of that worked to keep Viga a prisoner in her parents home until the age of 23. 

To find out more of Viga Boland's story of incest, you will have to read her book. I would recommend the book No Tears for my Father, written by Viga Boland to all who are interested in the truth of what it means to be  a victim of childhood abuse, domestic violence and incest. 

You can visit Viga Boland at these websites which are listed at the beginning of her book:

http://www.vigaboland.com

http://www.notearsformyfather.com

http://vigaland.blogspot.com 

http://www.youtube.com/vigaland 

http://vigaland.com 

Patricia

 

Effects Of Incest - When Your Abuser Is Your Dad

Yesterday, I read an article about the Stockholm Syndrome written by CW Seymore Shards of Glass. Today, I was leaving a comment on her link on Facebook when I decided to make it an article for here. Here is the link to CW's article "The 'Stockholm Syndrome' and the Abused!":

http://shardsofglasscwseymore.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-stockholm-syndrome-and-abused.html

Here is what I wanted to share with you.

When the abuser is your dad, you have a love/hate relationship. You love the dad that says he loves you and makes you laugh and feel good but you hate the dad who abuses you, calls you names, and makes you feel worthless just because you were born a female.

I hated the man that used me for his own sexual pleasures before I was old enough to understand what he was doing. I hated that he took that first time that was supposed to be special away from my husband and me.

Instead of excitement and shyness, I was filled with dread and guilt. I felt shame because that wasn't my first time. I loved my husband but I had so many mixed up, messed up feelings about sex before of the incest.

When my dad forced me to have sex with him, I would close my eyes and go deep inside until it was over. I thank God that my dad was never interested in me enjoying the act. Because of that lack of caring on my dad's part and that of my other abusers, I can separate the sex that was had with them from the love making that occurs between my husband and me in our marriage bed.

Through the love and patience of my husband, I have been able to stay present and experience pleasure in the act of love making. I wasn't the best of partners in the bedroom because of the incest. I had to realize that my husband was not like my dad. My husband taught me how to enjoy my body and his. I have been very blessed and it took time for that to happen.

Spouses of incest survivors don't have an easy road either. They deal with lots of stuff that they don't understand because the incest survivor can't explain what she/he often doesn't understand either. Some of us tell our spouses about the abuse. Others don't. I can tell you that I was married for eight years before I told my husband because I was afraid he would leave if he knew the shame that I carried around inside of me. I wasn't afraid of how he would feel about my dad. I was afraid of what he might think/feel about me. He didn't turn away in disgust. He continued to love me and gave me the needed time and space to work through my major issues.

My dad wasn't my first abuser in my memories that I have but his attitude toward me, women, marriage and toward sex were what took away from my first time with my husband in case you are thinking, well, she told us that her dad wasn't my first. I don't know who my first sexual abuser was. The first one in my memories at age 11 was an uncle. The one who caused the most hurt and emotional damage was my dad who became my sexual abusers within a month of being abused by my uncle. My dad was the one who influenced the way I saw myself and my life.

Who was my first sexual abuser that caused me to think of myself as an adulteress at the age of three? I don't know. I don't have access to those memories, just the clue that I believed myself to be an adulteress at age three. That is a very strong memory that I do have and one of the clues that I was being sexually abused by someone at a much younger age than 11 when my memories of abuse do start.

Here is blog post written by another friend of mine, also on the topic of Stockholm Syndrome.

http://vigaland.blogspot.com/2012/07/now-i-get-it-i-have-ss-stockholm.html

I am going to end this post with something that I left in a comment after reading the above article:

I do understand the loving your father, hating the lover. When someone tells me that love and hate can't live in the same heart. I tell them they are not incest survivors.
Patricia

March 2012 Blog Links Love

It is time for to share more of the blogs that I have read this month. Let me and them know what you found interesting or educating. Warning: Some of these may be triggers if you are a survivor.

1.  From the blog, Evil Sits at the Dinner Table, the article entitled "Denial, Repression, and Dissociation in Child Sexual Abusers @
http://ordinaryevil.wordpress.com/2012/03/18/denial-repression-and-dissociation-in-child-sexual-abusers/

2.  A second blog post from the blog, Evil Sits at the Dinner Table, the article is "Suburban Secrets: Affluent, Well-Dressed Fathers Sometimes Rape Their Children" @
http://ordinaryevil.wordpress.com/2012/03/%2017/suburban-secrets-affluent-well-dressed-fathers-sometimes-rape-their-children/

3.  This one is an article from The New York Times and is about the Catholic Church and Survivors' Network. The name of the article is "Church Puts Legal Pressure on Abuse Victims' Group found at the following link @
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/13/us/catholic-church-pressures-victims-network-with-subpoenas.html

4. The blog is called The Secret Survivor and the post is listed under Poems as "Incested" and "A Choice". Here is the link @
http://secret-survivor.blogspot.com/2012/02/choice.html

5.  The blog is called Get the Lid OFF! and the article is "OTB... Cont'd ~ It Wasn't Enough" found at the following link @
http://getthelidoff.blogspot.com/2011/11/otb-contd-it-wasnt-enough.html

6.  With this blog, take you pick of what you want to read. They are all encouraging and uplifting.  pinwheel girls: helping women be true to themselves is one of my favorites to read every week. Here is the link @
http://pinwheelgirls.com/

7.  Silence Is Not Golden is the next site to visit. You will find the JustJess Blog and other information for adult survivors of childhood sexual abuse at the link @
http://www.silenceisnotgolden.us/

8.  At the blog healthpsychologyconsultancy blog, you will find the following article: "Counsellor Training: The Importance of Personal Life History" @
http://healthpsychologyconsultancy.wordpress.com/2012/02/18/counsellor-training-the-importance-of-personal-life-history/

9.  School Bullying Council wrote the blog post "Teens join anti-bullying effort" @
http://www.schoolbullyingcouncil.com/teens-join-anti-bullying-effort/

10.  The last website is called Who Invented The Internet. The article is "Stop Bullying Now: What should I do if I'm being bullied?" @
http://whoinventedinternet.com/stop-bullying-now/

Today Is Father's Day

A part of me really doesn't want to write this post.  I thought I would write it last night but that didn't happen. To postpone writing this, I spent time on emails and reading blog posts that others have written on Father's Day.  Last night I was on Facebook and became involved in a conversation that turned out to be over 60+ comments long about fathers and incest.

What I am feeling right now - fear, confusion, anger, sadness, grief - all started just before Mother's Day.  I have been on a rollercoaster ride of emotions since then - up and down and scattered all over the place and when things got too intense eating uncontrollably at night.  I have no problems with overeating in the daytime.  It always starts after 6:00 p.m.  I just got the thought "That was when Daddy got home from work.  That was when the fear and tension walked into the house.  Would it be tonight? Would he find some trip back to town was needed to pick up something that he forgot?"  I always had to go with him and that meant sex in the truck on some isolated road or field before we would go back home. I would feel sick to my stomach before and afterwards.

My son just called to wish his dad Happy Father's Day.

My mother never questioned why my dad couldn't go by himself or why I was always the one who had to go with him.  I was the oldest but men usually do father son things.  My brother was only a year and a half younger than me.  By the age of 9 or 10, he should have been doing things with his dad. We were grown and I was away from home before that happened.  I can only imagine how my brother felt, aways being ignored.

My stomach is tied in knots and I am feeling nauseous right now.

I recently decided to do some inner child work again to see if I had any open wounds left that needed to be healed.  I bought a book which has mysteriously disappeared this morning.  I have searched the house twice for it.  The book is a workbook by Cathryn L. Taylor.  I think the title is The Inner Child Workbook, if not it is something similar to that.  I have been reading just a few pages each night.  I haven't gotten to any of the exercises yet.  I guess the fact that I have "lost" the book tells me that one or more of my inner children are afraid to do the exercises.

My feelings and thoughts are really scattered this morning.  Part of me wants to hide from the world until today is over.  Another part of me is mad as Hell that I am feeling all of this again.  Another part wants to go eat and never stop.  A part of me wants to throw up.  Another part is getting a headache.  These are not separate identities like with DID or multiple personalities.  These are all my wounded, scared inner children.  All of us who were wounded by incest or any form of child abuse has these inner children.  They are the parts of us that stop developing at certain times in our lives when the abuse was happening. 

Doing inner child work means going back through each developmental stage of life to find out what needs to be learned to finish each developmental stage of childhood.  What inner child needs to be nurtured and taught to trust the adult me?  Which ones need to be loved and hugged and played with?  Which ones need to know that they can't control the adult me with temper tantrums or other childlike behaviours when we are in crisis mode.  The adult me needs to be the one in control during a crisis in order to keep all of us safe.  I need to learn to love them and trust them as much as they do the adult me.

I am going to try an experiment right now, totally unplanned previously.  The adult me is going to step out of the way and let one or more of my inner children tell you their thoughts about our father and Father's Day.  Here goes.


Tears.  Anger.  Rage.  Sadness.  Crying inside with tears coming to the surface. 

Tears because daddy didn't love us or he wouldn't have hurt us.  Anger because we are supposed to honor daddies on Father's Day.  (Having difficulty letting go of the control and letting the words flow.  Husband just came in and interrupted thoughts.)

Rage because anger is too tame a word to use for what I am feeling.  Overall sadness which has been with me, it seems like forever.  (Husband goes back to work in an hour.  Will come back and finish this when I am alone and it is quiet again.)

In that hour I found THE INNER CHILD WORKBOOK:  What to do with your past when it just won't go away written by Cathryn L. Taylor.  I asked my Higher Self where the book was after searching the house twice trying to find it.  I immediately picked up some papers next to my computer and the book was under them.

I don't know if I even want to go back to the exercise that I started above or not.  I bet you are thinking "Just get on with it."

Dear Daddy, you were never the daddy that I needed you to be.  One of my earliest memories of you is of you making my little brother who was less than 2 years old smoke a cigar until he was so sick that he was thowing up.  You said it was so that he wouldn't smoke when he got older. You laughed and thought it was funny.  Even at 3 or so, I didn't laugh or think it was funny.  You were mean to him and scarey to me.  I thought you would make me smoke a cigar too but you didn't.  I didn't like you for making my little brother sick. Daddies aren't supposed to do things like that.

During that same time period I remember my brother sleeping on an army cot in the same room where I slept at the foot of the bed with you and momma at the top of the bed.  What was that all about? Was I in the bed when you and momma had sex?  Did you fondle me during the night after momma was asleep?  Is that part of the mystery that I don't remember?  That I have forgotten on purpose in an effort to protect 3 year old me from dealing with something that was just too big for a 2-3 year old to survive in her mind.  Why did my 2-3 year old mind shut out any memories of sexual abuse?  What was too painful for that child me to be able to remember and deal with?  This is where the sadness, grief, fear and anger is coming from.

I hurt but I don't know why.  Inside the child of less than three hurts and cries and wonders why no one loves her or protects her from you or whoever else hurt her.  The memories are locked away.  They do exist in some area of my body or mind.  They are why the three-year-old called herself an adultress. This is hard to write and I know that I am still keeping some distance between me and all of this.  Some part of me is not willing right now to get any closer to the feelings or the memories that those inner children still carry to this day.  The body is still holding on, also afraid to feel the pain of those childhood days.  Instead the body gets an upset stomach, indigestion, ulcers, coughing attacks, headaches because it doesn't know how to let go.  It is more afraid of being empty without the stuffed feelings.  It is so easy to just disconnect from it all rather than feel the emotions.  I am surprised that it still hurts so much.  That is all that I can write today.  The adult me is too afraid of what the inner children might reveal.  The adult me doesn't feel very strong just now. 
Sorry,
Patricia

Dear Daddy - Facing My Incest Abuser

June 29, 1992

Dear Daddy,

You used me and sexually abused me when I was just a child.  You betrayed me when you were supposed to be taking care of me and helping me to grow up.  I loved you and you used that to hurt me.  What you did was wrong.  I was just a child.  I couldn't stop what you were doing.  You were the adult and responsible for your own actions.  Nothing you did was ever my fault.  You, as an adult, should have been in control of your actions.  Instead, you took advantage of a little child who did nothing to encourage your actions.  I never wanted you to be anything but my Daddy.

I never wanted to be your sexual partner.  I loved you, but I also hated you for what you were doing to me.  Did you know that I hated you?  Did you know that I was afraid of your temper?  Did you know that I don't sleep well at night because of you?

No longer can you be a part of my life.  Your influence is too painful and too destructive to those I love.  I will not let you hurt me or my family.

I give you back your shame and your anger.  I refuse to accept any part of it.  You are alone because you use and hurt people who try to love you.  I refuse to feel dirty or bad or guilty because of what you did.  I did nothing wrong.

I am putting my life together and becoming who I want to be and you have no place in my life any more.  Right now I don't feel any love for you, I only feel anger toward you.  I feel sad for the life that we could have had when I was a child and for the relationship we could have had as adults if you had just loved me instead.

Your kind of love is too sick and I won't have that in my life.  The price is too high.  I am learning to deal with my own pain and anger just as you will have to live with yours.  Please stay out of my life.  I don't need you.

I feel sad that my children do not have a grandfather that they can love and who can be there to watch them grow up to be adults.  I intend to tell them why you are not in their lives so that you can never abuse them.  I can protect them as I could not protect myself from you and your so-called love.
Patricia


I wrote this letter with the intent of reading it to my dad face-to-face but that didn't happen.  He suddenly disappeared when I started trying to track him down.  Then I decided to mail the letter to him but nobody had an address for him.  I held on to the letter.

Finally one evening months later, I got called to the phone by my husband.  My dad was on the line wanting me to do something for him.  I told him I was glad that he had called because I had something that I wanted to read to him.  I went and got the letter I had written.  When I started to read, he got angry and interrupted me.  I got angry and told him to just shut up and listen.  He said okay.  I was shaking so hard that it showed in my voice as I read the above letter to him.  When I finished, he said that if that was the way that I wanted it to be, then fine, that is how it would be.  We hung up.  I didn't talk to him again until he was in the hospital sometime in 1999.  His sister had called me and told me that Dad had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor.  Surgery was done but all of the tumor could not be removed.  He died early sometime on the morning of January 6, 2001.  He died as he lived - alone.
Patricia

Dreams About Tigers---What They Mean To Me

I recently read an article called "Talk of Tigers/The Tiger Unveiled" and watched a video about his dream about tigers that was written by Dan L. Hays at his blog Thoughts Along The Road to Healing. I ask that you watch the video first. You will find it at the following link:

http://www.youtube.com/user/fhs1968writerman#p/a/u/0/ary8eVG_e94

After you have watched the video, then go to the following link to read Dan's article about the dream:

http://danlhays.wordpress.com/2009/10/28/talk-of-tigersthe-tiger-unveiled/

Then come back here and finish reading my article. I will wait on you to return. Be sure to read the comments at the end of Dan's article and video.

Why is reading about Dan's Tiger dream so important to me? Because I have my own Tiger dream which started having sometime after my 7th birthday. How do I know how old I was? Because the house that is in my dream was the house that my grandmother lived in when I was 7 years old. She only lived there for a part of that one year.

Before I go any further, I want to tell you my Tiger dream. I have briefly mentioned it in a few of my past articles. Here it is:

I am about 7 years old and I am alone in my grandmother's house. No one else is around. I am frightened. There is a huge golden and black striped tiger walking around outside the house. As he walks completely around the house, I follow him from door to window to window watching him. He is talking to me as we both walk. He says in this really deep voice, "I am going to eat you." He keeps talking and telling me this over and over again as he walks around the house looking for a way to get inside. I make sure that each door and each window is closed and locked. I am so afraid. I don't know how long the dream goes on before I wake up terrified. I don't go back to sleep for a very long time afterwards.

I dreamed this dream quit often over the years of my childhood and young adulthood. I can't tell you when I had this dream last. It was sometimes after I started the 12-Step programs of Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics. It was always the same, never changing any of the elements of the dream. I was always terrified, even as an adult when I had this dream. I was always around 7 years old in the dream.

I know that for me to always be 7 in the dream that some kind of developmental stage stopped for me at that age. I don't know why that year is so important for me. I have always known that something monumental happened that year without knowing what it was. As I said in my comment to Dan's article, I can still see the dream in my mind so clearly after all of these years.

I never could figure out what the tiger stood for in my dream. When Dan said that his Tiger represented his rage that was buried way below the surface and was even hidden from him, I felt chills going through me. I recognised that as a truth for me as well. Dan said that the Tiger (his rage) was dangerous to him and anyone who got close to him. My rage was very much like that when I was in denial of its existence. I would suppress my rage as long as I could. Do you know how much of my energy was wasted suppressing that rage? Because of it, I was so tired all of the time for many, many years. As a young child, I knew what bone-weary tired felt like.

Dan said that his legacy of rage came from his father. I think that my dream took place in my grandmother's house because family was probably where my legacy of rage came from. My grandmother was a quiet person. My mother was in denial of all of her feelings. As a teenager, I figured out that my mother and grandmother were quietly angry with one another. I never knew why. If I had asked either one, they would have denied it. Do you know how destructive silent rage can be? I suspect that the anger had something to do with my grandfather. He died when I was 2 years old. My mother was the baby of the family and extremely spoiled and protected by her daddy. I wonder if the anger between my grandmother and mother was possibly jealousy because of that attention that my mother got from her father. All 3 are dead now so I have no one to ask about it.

The denied rage could also have come down from my grandfather and his parents. When my grandfather was just a baby, his mother left him and his father and ran off. My great-grandfather was so angry that he would never tell my grandfather his mother's name. He grew up never knowing anything about his mother or her family. When my grandfather would ask about her, his father would not answer. He refused to talk about her at all. When my grandfather was 10 years old, his father died and left him to be raised by neighbors who took him in. Since he died when I was 2 years old, I don't know if my grandfather carried the rage of his father forward into the next generation or not.

Just like alcoholism, which is rampant in my dad's family background, rage was be passed down the generations. My dad's grandfather was well known for being a mean S.O.B. He wasn't nice to his wives or children. His first wife died shortly after childbirth and he wanted to bury the baby girl with her. He apparently didn't think much of girls. A neighbor took the baby girl and raised her. His second wife divorced him and got a restraining order against him in the early 1900's. She kept the 5 children that they had together. My great-grandmother was his 3rd wife. She left him after he tried to poison her several times. When my great-grandmother died in the 1920's, both of their sons went to live with their dad. He was well-known for beating his animals also. Would you say that he probably had a rage problem too?

I know that I suppressed my own rage for many years, denying its existence in every way possible. I stuffed my feelings with food and still do to a smaller degree. I refused to acknowledge its existence. If you asked me, I would have said that I wasn't angry. Good little girls, respectful of their parents and all adults, didn't get angry, much less feel rage. My dad was a rageaholic. I knew what it looked like. I didn't want to feel that way too. It hurt too much. I didn't like my dad when he was raging. He was very abusive when he was raging. I didn't want to see myself as that way, capable of hurting myself and others that same way that my dad did.

As I have said before, I was like a pressure cooker who occasionally blew my safety valve when the stream became too great from stuffing the rage. When I was raging, like my dad, I felt no compassion for anyone. I took no prisoners. Fear was the monster that fueled my rage. Fear was also what kept me from facing my rage. I thought that anger and rage were the same thing and always very dangerous. My dad's rages were always dangerous. Rage always came with the threat of violence. For many years, I was afraid that if I let my rage out that I might kill someone with its intensity.

Except for in my dreams, I have never been afraid of Tigers. To me they are the most beautiful creature that God ever created. Have you ever seen a color more beautiful that they golden orange color of Tigers? Have you ever seen a creature more powerful and majestic than a Tiger? A Tiger reminds me of how powerful I can be as a creation of God. A Tiger bows down to no man. A Tiger is a victim to no one.

A Tiger, to me, represents the strength that I needed to overcome the effects of incest on my life. I have pictures and a small stuffed Tiger to remind me of the beauty and power of Tigers. As Dan said, Tigers spend most of their lives alone. I can relate to that also in that I have felt alone for much of my life, separated from others because of the lack of trust and fear of abandonment that I lived with for so many years because of the incest.

Thank you, Dan Hays, for your video and article on your Tiger dream. Dan and I have had a few conversations about the uncanny similarities between us that have come out from his sharing his Tiger dream. I look forward to reading more of Dan's blog articles and future discussions. I look forward to reading Dan's book The Tiger Unveiled when he finishes writing and getting it published.

Dan also has a Radio show called "Minute to Freedom" with Dan Hays that you can find at the following link:

http://www.radiokevin.com/minutetofreedom.htm

I haven't listened to any of the radio programs yet, but I am excited to hear them soon. Now I am off to read some more of Dan's blog articles. I hope that you will join me. Have a glorious day of exploring your world.
Patricia

Grieving Again

Grief, like forgiveness, isn't a one time thing. I just got home late last night from a trip to Louisiana for the funeral of my dad's oldest brother. My uncle was 80 years old and died of a blood clot that happened after a minor falling incident that happened on a walk to his mail box last week.

Funerals are always a sad occasion. At my age of 56, they are also beginning to be the main way that I reconnect with family members from my parents' families. My dad was the 3rd oldest out of 13 kids born to his parents from 1927-1950. In addition to 13 kids, my grandparents unofficially adopted one of my younger cousins and raised him too.

Some of my dad's family, I am close to and some I am not so close to because of the age difference and distance that we have always lived from each other. There are lots and lots of cousins that I haven't seen much since we were all kids and now we all have children and grandchildren of our own. Nine of my dad's brothers and sisters are still living. My grandfather died in 1989 and my grandmother in 2001 just a month after my dad died.

Uncle Odis took on the title of "Old Man Caldwell" when my grandfather died. As one of my younger aunts commented yesterday, Uncle Odis has now passed that title on to one of his younger brothers.

I wasn't close to Uncle Odis. He did do me a really big favor that I will never forget. Two nights after I left home at the age of 19, my mom finally told my dad the truth that I wasn't coming home. She also told him where I was. Mom called me to tell me that Dad was on his way. She told me to call Uncle Odis because he was the only person that my dad ever listened to. I called him and he came. We sat out in the front yard of my friends' house in Uncle Odis' car so that my friends wouldn't have to deal with my dad. My dad and I talked; I agreed to go home for the weekend only to talk some more. After my dad and I left my friends' house, Uncle Odis went in and talked to my friends. I didn't know this part of the story until years later. Uncle Odis told my friends that if my dad ever came back to shoot him. Uncle Odis was a policeman for 28 years and retired as a Captain. Uncle Odis was probably the only family member that recognised how dangerous my dad could become when he was drunk. Mean drunks seem to run in the Caldwell family.

Despite the circumstances, I enjoyed seeing all of my aunts, uncles and cousins that were well enough to make it to the funeral. I even met some new relatives that I hadn't met before. Welcome to the Caldwell family.

We aren't an easy bunch of people to get to know. We are, most of us, as the Catholic priest described Uncle Odis, bossy. Another choice description would probably be opionated. We know what we think and want and aren't afraid to say so. We also love strongly. We are red-headed Irish even though most of us didn't actually get the red-hair. We feel things strongly. We have quick tempers. We are family, disfunctions and all.

Uncle Odis' funeral and the resulting family gathering brought up feelings of grief for me, not so much for Uncle Odis but for my dad. I was surprised to feel tears coming two different times. I remembered the death of my dad, the stress of being the oldest child who had to make all of the arrangements, the grief. Being in charge of everything when I had not had much close contact with my dad for years because of the alcoholism and incest was very difficult. It isn't surprising to me that I ended the day yesterday with a migraine.
Patricia

How Will People Remember You?

Craig Harper from "Motivational Speaker" asks the question what would the people at your funeral say if you died today? That may not be Craig's exact words. That's my interpretation of what he said. Go to http://craigharper.com.au/2008/02/just-another-life.html to read what Craig says. My thoughts afterwards are the reason for this article.


In my comment on Craig's site, I told how my dad's funeral was the saddest day of my life. As a friend of mine said when her mom died, she felt like an orphan on that day. Her dad had died years before.

I can truthfully say that I had no regrets where my dad is concerned. A year and a half before he died, my sister and I visited him in his hospital room when he was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor. The surgery removed as much of the tumor as the doctors could safely remove. They gave him six months to live. He fooled them and lived a year and a half. When we visited my dad that day in his hospital room, I spoke to his higher self and told him that I forgave him for the incest.


Did my dad use that year and a half to make changes in his life? No, the older my dad got, the meaner he got. He died alone living in a bus sitting on the side of the road. The bus had been converted into a camper trailer. He and a friend (the only friend who came to his funeral) both had a bus sitting end to end next to each other on the property of the friend's brother. My dad's death certificate says he died from alcohol and cigarette abuse. I assume that means that his heart just stopped beating. My dad was 68 years old. He looked like he was 80-90 years old. It took his friend a week to find any family to notify of my dad's death.


Why was my dad's funeral the saddest day of my life? When I gave everybody the opportunity to say something about my dad at his funeral, nobody said a word. I was too numb to think of anything to say. I was shocked that none of his ten brothers and sisters or his mom said a word. It is sad to me that none of the good things about my dad came to mind for anybody to speak about at his funeral. There must have been some good memories from the years before he became an alcoholic.


His friend was angered and was openly critical of me for the way that I handled things that day. I didn't react to his criticism. My thought was that he apparently knew a different person than I did.



I want to share some of Craig's words from his article with you because they are important to me:
"In the context of 'time' we're only on this planet for a moment, and in the overall scheme of things we are but tiny specks on the face of humanity. In a way we're insignificant, but at the same time we're giants, if we choose to be. Of course I'm not talking about our physical size, but rather the size of the contribution we make to others; our brothers and sisters here on the big blue ball. The legacy we leave behind. That contribution may be on a 'family and friends' level, a community level, a national level or it might be something we do, which in some way has global implications. If we operate from the premise that life is ultimately about what we can give, (as opposed what we can get - the opposite of what 'modern culture' teaches), then we begin to move from selfishness to significance. And on focusing on the giving we become richer (on every level) then we ever would have by focusing on the getting. Clever that. Selfish people rarely become rich. Generous poeple - often. And don't assume that people with loads of money are necessarily rich. Many of them are paupers; spiritually, emotionally and mentally bankrupt. Not all of course, but some."


So, my question to you is, "Do you want to live life like my dad where nobody has anything good to say about you at your funeral or do you want to be remembered for your contributions and good will? Do you want to be a real person who is loved and remembered by all because of who you are?

The Most Influencial Person---#2---Survival

A friend and his 6-year-old son came to visit recently. It has been several years since the son has been to my house. As we are walking through the house, the 6-year-old whispered to his dad that he liked my stuff. Right now, I need to buy several more bookshelves to hold and organize my clutter of books and papers. This sweet little boy, with his child's wisdom and wonder in his eyes, looked up at me and said, "You must be rich." I laughed and then said, "Yes, in some ways, I am rich. I am very rich in friends."

This is my second article about the most influencial people in my life. For this one, I will take you back to when I was 19 years old and getting ready to leave home for the first time. I was just finishing up with my second year of college. I lived at home and rode back and forth to school with my mom who would drop me off on her way to her job every morning.

I met Althea that year in one of my classes. We were actually in 2 classes together. We were both attending a little junior college in Bossier City, Louisiana. This junior college started out as a pilot program that was located on one floor of Airline High School. We had a small student lounge at one end of the hall where the college students could sit and visit in between classes. Althea and I got to know each other in the lounge.

I told her that I was thinking about leaving home whenever I took my last college exam. I needed to find a job so that I could earn some money to pay for my next year of college. I had already been accepted for my junior year at Northwestern State University of Louisiana in Natchitoches, Louisiana. I had applied for and been accepted for a student aid loan and job starting in September of 1970. At that time, I was studying to teach Special Education in Elementary School.

Althea is about 10 years older than both of my parents so some people might think ours is an odd friendship. I have always been blessed with friends of all ages. I just love people. Althea has 4 children of her own, 2 sons and 2 daughters. At the time her oldest son was married and out on his own. The oldest daughter is 11 days older than I am. We became fast friends. Althea's youngest son was in high school when I first met him and her youngest daughter was 12 years old. Althea and her husband moved their family to Shreveport, Louisiana when her husband retired at Barksdale Air Force Base in Bossier City the year that we met.

When I made up my mind to leave home, I didn't have a clue as to where I was going to live until September when I could go to Northwestern. All I knew was that I had to leave home or I would never be able to get out from under my dad's rule. My dad was a dictator, an alcoholic, and a rageaholic. I had reached a breaking point. I knew that if I didn't leave then, that I would have a nervous breakdown of some kind and totally lose myself. I was desperate to leave the abuse behind. I knew this was my one and only chance to leave.

I believe that God put Althea in that class for my sake. Without her intervention, I would not have survived. I told Althea that as soon as I finished my last test at school that I was leaving home. She asked if I would want to live with her and her family that summer. She said that she would help me find a summer job. I said yes. That night I went home and wrote a letter to my mom. I started to tell my dad that night that I was leaving and not coming home the next day. My mom interrupted me and would not let me tell him. I went to my room and packed a few changes of clothing and went to bed.

The next morning, I told my sister bye and gave her my letter. I asked her to give the letter to mom when she came in from work that evening. I hated leaving my sister behind but there was no way that I could take her with me. She was 16 and still a minor.

Mom dropped me off at school. She asked me if I was coming home that evening. I lied and told her I didn't know. It seemed easier than telling her the truth. I went to classes and took my last tests and then went home with Althea.

For the first day, my mom lied and told my dad that I was spending the night with a friend. The second night that I didn't come home she told him where I was. Mom called to tell me that Daddy was on his way to Althea's to get me.

My dad's oldest brother was a police detective for the city of Shreveport. Mom gave me his phone number. I called him and explained the situation and told him that I had left home and was not going back. I asked if he would come over to Althea's to help me talk to Daddy. He agreed. He got to Althea's just before Daddy did. Daddy, Uncle Odis and I went out and sat in Uncle Odis's car to talk. I was afraid to let Daddy in Althea's house because of Daddy's temper. He told me that night that if he ever caught Althea out on the highway that he would run her car into the ditch. I believed him. Daddy and Uncle Odis convinced me to go home for the weekend so that we could talk about my plans. I told Daddy that I would go home with him for the weekend only if he would promise to bring me back to Althea's on Sunday afternoon. He said he would. I thanked Uncle Odis for his help and told Althea my plans for the weekend.

I went home to a weekend of crying and threats and then when that didn't work, Daddy decided to threaten suicide. Instead he went out and got drunk and came back several hours later and went to bed. That was the hardest weekend I have ever lived through. I experienced fear for myself, for my entire family, for my dad in case he did commit suicide. I knew he was doing everything he could think of to keep me at home. I felt sadness over leaving my mom, sister and brother at home. I felt guilty for leaving my sister behind but I knew my dad would not let me take her. I decided I would not feel guilty if Daddy did follow through with his suicide thread. I knew I could not be responsible for his actions if he did decide to take his own life. I knew that my survival was at stake. I would have fallen apart and totally lost my self if I had stayed at home any longer. I was very close to breaking and I knew it. I knew that I couldn't be strong much longer before I gave into the fear.

I think that I was feeling deep echoes of a past life in which I did just give up. In that past lifetime, I remember the feelings of being so helpless to control my own life that one day I just went to bed and never got up. I quit eating and just laid there in my bed until I died of starvation of food and spirit. In that lifetime, I was raped too. In some deep recess of my mind, I remembered and I knew I did not want to do that again. I did not want to be so sad that I would just quit living. I also knew that I wasn't far from doing just that if I didn't get away from my dad.

My mom drove me back to Airline Junior College on that long ago Sunday afternoon. Althea met us there. I didn't go home again until just a week before I left for Northwestern State University.

Althea helped me find my first job working as a line worker in a cafeteria. What a wonderful job that was for a country girl with no special training of any kind. I was extremely quiet and shy. I was also the only worker there that summer that was below the age of 30. Everyone took me under their wings and protected me and helped me begin to blossom.

Althea and her family took me in, nurtured me and protected me and started me on my path to adulthood. I learned what some semblance of a normal American family was. They unofficially adopted me into their family. I gained 2 more brothers and 2 more sisters and a second set of parents. Althea has always been one of my best friends and my second mom combined.

Althea, I can't measure the love and admiration that I still have for you today. You hold a special place in my heart. You really did save my life that long ago day that you invited me into your heart and home. Thank you for your love and kindness in taking in that sad, lonely girl that I once was. You have played an important part in helping me to become the woman that I am today. You are one of the strongest women that I know. I love you.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy

When I left to go to church this morning, I had no idea that I would be writing a Happy Father's Day to my dad. This was inspired by what I heard my minister say in his sermon. Thanks, Rev. Joe. I hope you had a wonderful Father's Day.

Jesus tells His Father to "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." We can all apply this to ourselves and to our parents. I have heard for years in Al-Anon and ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics), that our parents did the best that they could. I used to get very angry when someone would say that. Finally, someone added the following words to that sentence, "and it wasn't good enough." Those few words added made all the difference to me. My feelings were being validated. Rev. Joe today said "They did the best that they could with the tools that they had from their level of consciousness. I like that statement too. I feel that I have a higher level of consciousness than my parents had and I still make mistakes with my children.

I read somewhere a few years ago, that we see God as having the same attributes as the father that raised us. What fatherly attributes have you given your God, the Father?

I need my God to be a loving, forgiving, and compassionate Father. I don't need Him to be the physically and emotionally abusive father that I grew up with. Nor is He an angry, raging Father. My God is not a punishing, nonforgiving Father.

My God understands my needs and desires. He knows why I think the way that I do. He knows why I feel the way that I do. He is perfectly ok with me getting angry at Him. With my dad, I was never allowed to feel that I was angry with him. I often wondered if I would survive the wrath of my dad.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy." I can finally say, "I love you." and not feel the rage that you acted out and I suppressed in myself. Daddy, I now know that I chose you as my dad before I was born. I also know that you were my husband in a past life so maybe I chose you as my dad so that we could both end the karma that we both attracted to us in that past life time. It has taken a long time and a lot of hard work to get here. I am grateful for the opportunity to grow that this lifetime has given me.

My dad died on January 6, 2001, alone and probably frightened and angry at himself and God. He was alone because of the life style that he chose. He was probably frightened and angry because dying was out of his control. My dad was a dictator. I was able to make my peace with my dad a year and a half before he died. I am thankful that I was able to face him and say "I forgive you."

As my consciousness grows and expands so could my idea of who God is. This is a God of my understanding and nobody else has to agree with me. I want to end with saying,
"Happy Father's Day, God, my Father." Hope you had a nice one.