Peace – A flowing stream, over rocks, pebbles, ebbing and flowing, no direction, yet – always tumbling one way.

Peace – Barefoot in grass, blades between toes, earth’s support, soft and tender, connection, grounding, beautiful, healing.

Peace – A dog at your feet, companion, faithful, unconditional, dependent, trusting, unspoken, soul mate

Peace – A warm summer day, cool breeze, blue sky, trees dancing in the distance, stillness, peace…

Peace – Alone, silence, nature, safe, reflection, gratitude, rest, presence, needed…

Peace – Solitude, friendships, love, acceptance, laughter, openness, joy, memories, acceptance – PEACE

A loss of friends, a best friend, old boyfriends, family members, my mum, a lover, pets, work family, precious work mates – profound losses, cut to my core, severed in my deepest places, sometimes too painful to glance their way. I’m not an avoider by any means, though I have to admit these last few years have taken a toll on my ability to bounce back, open myself up, get close, to attach, to face the true depth of all that has gone.

It’s such a private experience and also a shared experience, depending what the loss is – like COVID19 for instance . . .

It changed the world. It changed me. It changed everyone I know and knew. It robbed us of loved ones, jobs, homes, freedom, but I want to keep this personal, about me, my losses, my grief.

GRIEF. . .

It’s 6ft apart, a face mask, a “Business Closing” sign, a final paycheck, a “Help Wanted” sign, glass dividers in restaurants, empty aisles in grocery stores, an empty Arena or Concert Hall, quiet streets, overflowing hospitals, hand washing, staff exhaustion, ventilators, flatlines, sippy cups, wet rags, half-filled planes, sanitizing wipes, hand sanitizer, a last breath, solitary burials, isolated deaths, isolation, isolation, isolation, chairs around a dinner table, full rather than empty, connection of unlikely sorts, family time, zoom calls, facetime calls, gratitude, fear, shock, flexibility, adjustment, silence, unreality, reality, stocking up, greed, toilet paper, wipes, sanitizer, greed, fear, me first, deliveries, death, loss, heartache, widows and widowers, orphans, partnership to singlehood, severing of ties, unemployment, stimulus checks, budgeting, hope, hopelessness, COVID shots, reactions, hope, gatherings, 6ft apart, touch, kisses, hugs, reality, new normal, devastation in the work place, losses, layoffs, severance, furloughs, terminations, friendships, workmates, work families, fear, loss, loneliness, hurt, rejection, a new normal… gatherings without barriers, filled Arena’s and Concert Halls, planes filled to capacity, busy streets and grocery stores, businesses flourishing, a new world, a changed world – grief – grief of ALL THAT WAS LOST and can never return – my new normal!

GRIEF. . .

Is an empty side of the bed, a sink never used, a toothbrush; its bristles stiff, memory showers in a million poses of a past lover, sight, sound touch, like an afternoon monsoon in Phoenix, Arizona, it’s hidden and obvious, Silver Springs playing on the radio, an empty passenger seat on a road trip, travels shared, future dreams vanished, a touch never again to be felt, a hand to hold no longer there, breasts never glanced at again, nipples unattended, a wedding ring in a drawer, a limp penis, a scarred and breast-less chest, a policeman at your door, a sister gone too soon, flowers atop a coffin, a horse drawn carriage, dirt scattered on a coffin lid. . .

GRIEF. . .

Is a butter pie made by mum, a mothers kitchen – emptied as her house prepares for sale, bare rooms awaiting their next owner, a garden unattended, a presence gone, silence, an abyss of memories turned to ashes and then to dust, what was, is no longer. . .

It was difficult to share with people about my dad and what had transpired between us from my ages 11-14. Not surprisingly, people felt anger and hatred towards him. Could hear nothing of the good I felt he had done for me or the ways in which I knew he had taken care of me as a child, until he started taking care of me in unforgivable ways.

A sense of protection would rise up in me when I felt their anger towards him, and, just as quickly, a sense of shame would start to shut me down and not want to continue to share.

A sense of protection would come over them from the intensity of emotion they felt because of the love and care they felt for me.

A double-edged sword.

It was after all, my experience. My feelings. My shame. My sense of protection. A sense of confinement would take over me, confined from speaking the truth I so desperately needed to be heard. It wasn’t until my mid-fifties that I ever really shared the absolute truth of the abuse. It changed me. Freed me. Catapulted me into a whole new sense of self that I had never been able to access.

Incest is, at its worst, life-altering, self-defining, personality changing, intrusive, overwhelming, terrifying, confusing, detrimental, self-punishing, shameful, dark, isolating, tormenting, oppressive, confidence-depriving, and most painfully guilt-provoking.

I felt and lived all of these things because of my dad’s choice to take me as his lover, his expectations of me likened to those of a wife. Sex wasn’t the only task my dad assigned me, there was also the house cleaning, laundry, cooking, ironing his shirts, bringing his bowl of warm water to soak his feet in at the end of each working day.

He possessed me. Controlled my every move.

Little wonder I’m so fiercely independent, unable to let people too close.

Perhaps all incest survivors experience the same challenges?

I’ve thought often of the impact his abuse has taken on my life. The saddest impact for me has been the ability to marry a man, have children, a family, grandchildren, a home. I have been engaged, married (briefly) no children, (though I have always wanted children.) I’ve loved men, a couple of them deeply. Would love to have been able to spend my life with them, but my feelings could never sustain. Sex was more like masturbation for me, no connection, even if I loved the guy, I couldn’t connect emotionally during sex. I would feel empty and sometimes dirty, afterwards.

This is what my dad robbed me of. The ability to connect with a man in the way I would need to, in order to spend my life with him and be fulfilled. Had I stayed with any man that I have loved, it would have been unfair to both of us because I would have always been disconnected in ways that are important to sustain a life-long relationship. I know this to be the absolute truth about myself. I know this to be one of my greatest losses in life. I will die never having birthed a child. That is a deep, deep loss.

People might ask, “why not have a child anyway?” Well, since most of my relationships have been with women, there have been times that I thought perhaps we could have a child together, but deep down I didn’t believe out relationship would last the test of time and didn’t want to bring a child into a world were I couldn’t provide the stability I had always wanted as a child:

Two parents, a stable home, financial security, a good education. We can say, “but children just need love.” I believe that in part, I also believe, as this point in my life, that a child needs balance, balance of love, attention, direction, stability, a belief that tomorrow will come and the day will not be disrupted by a sudden move to another town in the middle of the night and the start of a new school two days later. I believe a child deserves “normal.” I believe a child deserves vacations, family, cousins to play with, book reading at bedtime, holiday occasions spent with family, traditions that offer a reflection back to childhood that fills the self with warmth, love, connection and gratitude.

It’s complicated really. I have so very much that I am grateful for. I am blessed that my life has turned out the way it has. I have so much love in my life. I’m grateful for all of it, deeply grateful. I just can’t help at times, to wonder who would I be had my dad made different choices, and that I still feel the same protection of him, even with all my sadness and sometimes anger for what his choices took from me. . .

She was freedom and restriction

Passion and stillness

Love and fear

Silence and noise

Future and past

Hope and desperation

Magical and unamusing

Present and distant

Everything and nothing

Opposite and sameness

She was …

“You gave to me, all of my life to do as I please, I owe everything, I have to you.”

It’s a beautiful song. I believe Neil Reid sang the song and won the Opportunity Knocks contest with it in 1971. He was 12 years and 9 months old at the time. The record sold 2.5 millions copies globally.

I loved the song; so did my mum, and so did my stepmum, Carmel.

I remember the inner conflict I felt with the lyrics of the song, even at 11 years of age, though I didn’t understand the conflicting feelings, they were powerful, a rush of “yes” and “no” as each beautiful line fell from Neil’s mouth.

I still feel the “yes” and “no” as I sit here writing, and as my mum lays in a hospital bed in Preston, having suffered a massive and depleting stroke, just over three weeks ago.

I love my mum, but it wasn’t always easy to like her. She was my friend. She was someone I could talk to about anything and not be judged. She was open-minded, accepting of my quirks, my need to speak the truth, my attempts for us to have a real relationship, my independence from her and any control or say so that she might want to have over my life and choices; she gave up that right when she left me and my brother when I was around 5 years of age. . .

She never did try to control me. I imagine she was afraid to. I was fierce in my independence from her. It’s only now, as she lays paralyzed, without a voice, unable to eat or drink, dead but still breathing, that I realize the fierceness was my protection; protection from ever being abandoned by her again, loving her, always, with a wall between us, a coldness and detachment that kept me safe and her punished.

If she could take my call now, I would want to share this with her and she would listen, because I would preempt it as I always did when I needed to have a real conversation with her by saying, “mum, I need to talk to you,’ and she would respond, :well, go on then.” She would listen and I know she would be grateful that I was sharing these words with her. I believe they would somehow set her free of any guilt or shame she might have felt for leaving me. I could even fantasize that she might cry and offer a heartfelt apology and deep regrets for how that must have impacted me and my life, that she understands I’m realizing only now that because she left me, I have been searching my whole life for the love she took from me when she made the choice to leave.

There was a period of time during my childhood, and my mums absence, that I would go to a pay phone each Tuesday at 6pm and place a “transfer charges” call to her phone number. She would always answer the operator, “Blackpool 379472,” (not the exact number) and the operator would ask if she would accept the charges, and my mum would accept them and we would talk. I honestly cannot recall a word of the conversation, though I recall the feeling I always felt when my mums voice was on the other end of the phone. I wanted something from her. I needed something from her. It was deep in the pit of my stomach. It was an ache. A void. A longing; a grasping for something from her that could not be found or latched onto through the distance of the telephone lines.

January 1st 2023,

Since starting this blog post, my mum has passed away. She left the earth October 24th. I was with her, holding her, talking her into the next world, painting a picture of who would be waiting for her, how she would be able to dance now and be free from pain, my hand on her chest as she exhaled her last breath, taking with her the love I had longed for my whole life.

It was a valid question – “why can’t you Suffer in Silence until we talk to — (our therapist.)” I immediately understood why they would ask the question. We were different that way. They didn’t open up easily to people. They had suffered greatly in silence throughout life. It saddened me to know of their suffering, isolation, the depth of disconnect from the people around them and the world at large. They had suffered greatly, and it mattered to me, deeply.

I had suffered in silence, mostly as a child, sometimes as an adult, and learned through lots of therapy that sharing hardships, problems, challenges, joys and life’s happenings, with trusted friends, family members and therapists, was healthy, was good for me. It allowed my suffering to be heard and not shut down in a place in me that still exists, but that chooses to connect and be seen. It isn’t easy. It’s a choice. It’s what I choose.

We were different that way; neither of us wrong or right, just different.

Suffering in silence – it’s what so many people do. Some of it forced, some by choice. . .

A mother nursing a sick child, a sick child unable to understand its illness, a husband nursing a dying wife, a dying wife worrying about her nurturing husband, a child being sexually molested by a parent, a parent molesting his/her child, a child being bullied at school, a bully isolated and hurting at home, a loved one living with an addict, helpless to make a difference, an addict living with an addiction, helpless to make a difference, a woman beaten by her mate, a mate who beats his partner. The silence louder than any audible sound.

At times Silence is Golden. I get that. I yearn for silence, I treasure silence, I need silence. I do though, choose not to be silent when doing so causes me emotional and mental suffering. I lived in that cage many times as a child with no voice. Isolated by so many things I was afraid, sometimes terrified to say. Living within a mental wall forced on me by my environment. A father raping me every day with the threat of, “if you tell anyone I will kill you.”

Learning to speak was a long, hard and eventually rewarding road. Risky, isolating, depressing, suicidal, healing, bonding, beautiful and life-sustaining.

I want to talk – to talk about things that aren’t said, the silence that lingers in the space that holds so much healing if only the words could flow, could find a platform, and prayerfully bridge the great divide.

What do you not say . . .

When she left, I floundered.  Not for moments, minutes, days or years, but eternally! I searched for her face in a crowd, talked out loud and sat in silence hoping to hear a response, but she was gone.  The silence was deafening, and my heart heard the void much louder than all of my senses. She had been my mentor, my friend, my confidante, my go-to person, my garden buddy, beach buddy, decorating buddy.  She taught me how to fasten my first bra.  She pushed me to stand up for my self. She loved her children and treated us equally, both emotionally and physically. She was in my corner and pointed out my errors if I was in the wrong.  She could “see me” and “read me” with no effort on my part. She sat me on her knee, no matter how old I was. She wiped my tears. Listened to my fears. She taught me the responsibility of a relationship, to say sorry when I’m wrong, to never fight dirty with words and to always consider the other person’s feelings.  She pushed me to do things that scared me and made me laugh at myself, even though it wasn’t easy. She exampled the ability to include people and instilled the same in me. She mirrored my heart and her presence offered all the comfort in the world. I could liken her to Lady Diana. She was intuitive and strong. She was kind to everyone and showed compassion in places that other’s may have turned the other way. She was big on forgiveness and was never too proud to extend the olive branch. I loved her so much for that, and for the example she set for my young and watchful eyes. 

So when I say “I miss her;” I miss HER.  I miss all that she gave me.  I miss all that I shared with her.  I miss being able to talk to her, and share life with her and wait in anticipation of her wise and witty advice. I miss the look of pride I used to see in her eyes when I had done well at something. I miss her hand on my arm, and the twinkle in her eye when she was up to mischief. I miss seeing and hearing her laugh with her brother Tommy, who could make her laugh like no-one else on earth.  I miss her heartbeat and her tenderness. I miss her enthusiasm for change and her encouragement to try new things, her sense of adventure that was endless. I miss her fairness and integrity and her ability to balance her affection and attention to all who loved her. I miss her hugs and the smell of her perfume. I miss having her on this earth and the sense of knowing she was always out there somewhere, because she isn’t and she never will be.  Sometimes, I say “I Miss You” out loud, hoping that somehow she hears. They are three simple words and yet so powerfully felt.

In her honor I would ask that if you have someone in your life you need to forgive, perhaps you might consider extending the olive branch, and see what happens.  Life is too short and too precious to spend time missing someone, if forgiveness could make a difference.

I imagine there are many people, who like myself, were raped by their father each day, maybe many times a day, for many years, or many months, or many weeks, or many days. . . I imagine like myself, they struggled with self-worth, perhaps not even knowing such a thing existed, until very many years into therapy, after very many broken relationships, bouts with depression, one addiction after another (which fortunately for me, has not been my struggle,) walking through life in a haze, feet on the ground, head in the sky, total disconnection from their bodies; because to feel their bodies, to feel anything at all, would mean to remember what they have tried so hard to keep buried deep, deep, down below their feet that are walking on the ground!

For me, all of the above PTSD, ADHD, EMDR and self-worth became a part of my awareness in my late 50’s. I have a great doctor who mentioned to me quite often, “I think you are suffering from PTSD.” I blew him off for years, until one day I actually took the time to look on the web and realized very quickly that he was right.

I guess my resistance to acknowledging that I suffered (still suffer) from PTSD was tied into the “victim” role. If I acknowledged I suffered from it because of what my dad inflicted on me as a young girl, which is actually the truth, then it somehow sought sympathy, which I have never wanted and never been comfortable with.

So once I had read enough information to convince myself that it was okay to admit that all of what I was reading was actually my reality each day, my next step was to tell my doctor that I was ready to see this “friend of his, who is great,” that he had been talking to me about for years. I could never have been prepared for how this next step changed me, my life and my beliefs about myself…

See below for a very uninformed breakdown of what I randomly discovered online regarding all of the above…more to follow in Part 2

PTSD – short for Post-traumatic stress disorder.

• A disorder in which a person has difficulty recovering after experiencing or witnessing a terrifying event.
• This condition may last months or years, with triggers that can bring back memories of the trauma accompanied by intense emotional and physical reactions.
• More than 3 million US cases per year
• Common symptoms:
  • Intrusive thoughts
  • Nightmares
  • Avoiding reminders of the event
  • Memory loss
  • Negative thoughts about self and the world
  • Self-isolation; feeling distant
  • Anger and irritability
  • Reduced interest in favorite activities
  • Hypervigilance
  • Difficulty concentrating
  • Insomnia
  • Vivid flashbacks
  • Avoiding people, places and things related to the event
  • Casting blame
  • Difficulty feeling positive emotions
  • Exaggerated startle response
  • Risky behaviors

ADHD – short for Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder

• Is a behavioral and neurodevelopmental disorder characterized by inattention, hyperactivity, and impulsivity, which are pervasive, impairing and otherwise age inappropriate.
• More than 3 million US cases per year
• Common symptoms:
  • Aggression
  • Excitability
  • Fidgeting
  • Hyperactivity
  • Impulsivity
  • Irritability
  • Lack of restraint
  • Persistent repetition of words or actions
  • Absent-mindedness
  • Difficulty focusing
  • Forgetfulness
  • Problem paying attention
  • Short attention span
  • Anger
  • Anxiety
  • Boredom
  • Excitement
  • Mood swings
  • Depression
  • Learning disability

EMDR – short for Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing

• Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing is a form of psychotherapy in which the person being treated is asked to recall distressing images; the therapist then directs the patient in one type of bilateral stimulation, such as side-to-side eye movement or tapping either side of the body.
• Developed in the late 1980’s by Francine Shapiro
• Benefits of EMDR:
  • Enables people to heal from the symptoms and emotional distress caused my traumatic experiences
  • Offers people the tools to deal with past, present and future trauma
  • Assists in building a positive response rather than negative
  • Helps to realize what happened to a person in the past, is not happening now
  • Changes the way memory is stored in the brain
  • Can lead to memories no longer producing high levels of distress but becoming just memories instead of recurring experiences
  • Some researchers assert that 20 minutes of EMDR is roughly the equivalent of five hours of talk therapy
  • Can benefit people with depression, anxiety and panic disorders
  • Success rate has been reported as high as 77% in some cases

SELF-WORTH – another word for self-esteem. Self-esteem is an individual’s subjective evaluation of their own worth. Self-esteem encompasses beliefs about oneself as well as emotional states, such as triumph, despair, pride and shame.

• Examples of self-worth:
  • The belief that you are a good person who deserves good things
  • Ability to express your needs and opinions
  • Confidence in making decisions
  • Ability to form secure and honest relationships
  • Openness to criticism
  • Owning up to mistakes
  • Comfortable giving and receiving compliments
  • Being on your own team
  • Respecting yourself
  • Self-dignity
  • Welcomes both success and failure
  • Creates space for your emotions without feeling guilty about them
  • Not afraid to be alone
  • Set firm boundaries
  • Appreciate the challenging people in your life

Earlier this morning I came across a post that a friend in England shared on Facebook. It was a post from 4 years ago. I had gone home to England for the Christmas holidays and a bunch of the Avenham Gang – as we called ourselves – met up in a pub for drinks. Some of us hadn’t seen each other for years, yet the bonds between us couldn’t be denied. We were family. It didn’t matter your religion, which school you went to, how much money you had, we loved each other, we were friends, we played together, stayed over at each other’s houses, defended each other, fought with each other, went camping together. We were defined by the area we lived in. Proud of being from Avenham. Knew our friends parents, knew all the shopkeeper’s, the priests at church!

The night was magical for me. Old boyfriend’s, meaning boys I loved and dated, and also claimed as friends. Kisses on the cheeks, hugs, laughter… so much laughter, so much joy, so much care and compassion for each other, the love still there for all of them and they for me.

They were all my heart and soul during those years in Avenham; all of them. They each meant something to me. I knew them. Knew who they were going out with, knew what their home life was like, knew their siblings, their pets, their aunts and uncles. I valued them. Treasured them. Felt safe with them. Trusted them, and know they would have guarded me with their lives, if only they had known what I needed to be protected from…

Looking through all the photo’s that were shared in the post, my mind catapulted back to so many memories of those years. One in particular was of a Sunday morning in Carmel and my Dad’s bedroom. Carmel (my step mum) was sat up in bed and my dad was playing donkey rides with me and my three sisters, Anne, Karen and Sarah. My brother John was living in Blackpool with my mum at the time. Laughter filled the room, tears running down Carmel’s cheeks, all of us wanting another turn at a donkey ride, true happiness, family times, love, safety and preciousness.

During this morning’s memory, I could hear my dad’s laughter. It was a hearty laugh, a full of life laugh. He was fun. He was funny. He was kind and sincere. He was caring and compassionate. Thoughtful and witty. He worked hard for his family, would do anything for anyone. People liked him. The Avenham kids liked him. He would come out and play games with all of us. He would have the kids come to the house and play games. He was welcoming and inclusive; didn’t want for anyone to be left out. I was proud of him. Proud that he was my dad.

The complexity came to mind just thinking of how much my Avenham friends liked my dad. How so many people liked him. It was hard not to like him…

As an adult, and as I’ve grown through therapy and awareness into the full realization of the impact my incestuous relationship with him has had on my life, I thought this morning of my struggle in earlier years with sharing with anyone the truth of who he was and what was really going on in our household. What I struggled with was people disliking him because of what he did to me. I might have been protective of him, even though he abused me, and so if I shared anything about him and the reaction was negative then I wouldn’t share anymore with that person. I thought a lot about that this morning…

How I loved him so much. How much I miss him since he died in 1988. How the absence of his laughter and playfulness left such a huge void in my life, and I wonder do other incest survivor’s struggle with the same things? Do they see the harm that has been done to them, the internal battles, the relationship issues that it’s caused, the shame they might still carry, the addictions they might have, the fears they face, the isolation they feel? Do they see and feel all of this and question how and why they could still love and care about the person who harmed them?

That is the complexity for me. I am certain that had my dad lived until this time in my life, the forgiveness I gave him before he died, might not have been offered so easily. The parts of me that I reclaimed during EMDR treatment for PTSD would have demanded that he truly hear and feel my pain and anger for all that he robbed me of – a normal life, husband and children, trust and safety – not to say that my life would have turned out that way anyway if he hadn’t abused me, but I will never know. He put his own needs and desires first and for that I will always believe there was a price to pay!