And it came to pass...

     This post comes at a great cost to me... I seldom reveal so much of myself in my writing, but I need to say this. I'm a very analytical person - very measured. I measure twice and cut once. I know the consequences long before I perform an action and most of the time go ahead anyway. But it's much more difficult to charge ahead with only faith to guide me. And when I say that this comes at a cost, I only mean that I'll be divulging very private feelings; Which for most of us, is quite taxing. We pay a toll when revealing what's real.
     I've made it no secret, my struggles with the years of torment dealing with the aftermath of a rape. And in addition to that incident, I've undergone other sexual attacks - none quite so severe, but none-the-less damaging. But I discovered something recently and I feel compelled to share it. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of anyone else struggling to overcome. I believe we all have a sore spot. A subject or topic that makes us cringe, that draws out our defenses and makes our pulses race and nostrils flare. For some it's sexual, for others it's race. For one it might be health, and for another, abandonment or bullying. But for all it is a wound. A hurt that never quite goes away. A pain that keeps us held hostage in a chamber of want. A wanting to let go, but never quite knowing how... A comfortable, torturous hurt that we're afraid of living without.
      A couple of weeks ago, I was on a long drive home from work. I had 3.5 hours of lonely night drive time and my mind got the better of me. One thought led to another and before I knew it I was engulfed in remembrance of the rape. And worst of all - what came after. The aftermath I believe was worse than the act itself. Knowing that his friends knew. Seeing them in public places, being followed, nearly run over, harassed, tormented. Knowing that I was a point, a notch, a conquest, made it that much more horrifying. And worse, some of the VERY few friends I told didn't believe me. The ultimate betrayal came at the hands of my once "best friend". (Because I've moved on, I won't divulge more of those circumstances.) My mind was snared in a dark circle of pain. I felt a fear like I hadn't known in years! I was terrified and completely alone. I called my best friend. I called my husband. I tried to talk about it but again was awash with shame and fear. After 17 years, can't you just get over it already?!?! (My thoughts, NOT theirs!) I tried to talk about what I was feeling but kept hearing myself smooth it over. I wanted it to go away... It didn't. Eventually I became so frightened that I had no choice but to become angry. There was a power in my anger. It fueled my ability to ask God the un-askable questions. The questions that for years, I logically knew the answer to, but was too chicken-shit to ask. I was afraid that God would tell me something I didn't want to hear. I put off facing a demon for fear that I wouldn't like the answer. But finally the time had come. I was so frightened, so frustrated that I had no choice but to ask... "Why did you make us Lord? Why did you create women? Was it to abuse, to hurt, to rape, to victimize at leisure? Are we here to "serve" and "obey"? Am I here only to live in fear? Am I weaker than men because they should hurt me?" I asked these long-standing questions aloud. I proclaimed them. I waited - baited. And if you've ever received an answer from your creator you will understand me when I say that the answer came with such calm and clarity that I had no choice but to immediately settle down. I was calmed... soothed. I was delivered. He said to me, "Nothing you have suffered is new to me. None of your experiences speaks of you. It speaks of them. It is the sin of the individual, the wickedness that lives in them, not you. It is not your sin to repent. It isn't your shame to bare. You are not weak. You are mine."  I can NOT explain the release I felt. I was let go - freed from the prison of despair I'd lived in for nearly two decades. I drove another hour to my home and told no one, not even my husband.
      Last week I was driving to the home of a client and couldn't find my way. Neither my mobile nor car GPS would lead me there. I gave up and four hours later, after seeing other clients, I found my way. I fumbled through mapquest and county land record directions. I drove dirt road upon dirt road until I arrived at the home of a 78 year old black woman. Earlier that morning, on my long drive to Southwest Georgia, I felt compelled to ask God for something else. I asked for esteem. I wanted to know when I should gain some. After living in the prison for "victims" for so, so long, I had no idea how to not be one - a victim that is. You see, once you've been attacked, you assume the defensive position - the sore spot. You don't mean to, but you retreat and you regret and your shame becomes a home, a haven. You go there in an effort to defend against the enemy, who in your mind can be anyone; Even those you love and claim that you trust. And so with my newly found freedom, I wanted to know when I might expect a healthy dose of self esteem? At the time I thought my question was reasonable. The opposite entirely...
      You see, I found that esteem is only discovered in gratitude. Despair is a form of narcissism. To despair is to turn your back on God's gifts. To lack in self love is a proclamation that what you have been given is not enough. I will never wear white and not spill on it. I will never read directions once and understand them. I won't buy a plant and not kill it. I won't sing and not have others regret it ;) But I will listen and make a friend. I will talk and be truly heard. I will write and convert. I will love and be loved. I will be grateful and find peace. And after the long, long mis-labeled dirt roads led me to this lady's home, I arrived at an answer, her doorstep. Almost immediately, this soulful and gracious woman said to me that I was in the right place, that I was so good at what I did, I shouldn't doubt where I was placed. She knew I was there for a reason. I've always believed that my simple job was more than a way to earn a living. I believe it's a call to answer prayers - be they mine or a stranger's. I left her home afloat. I had been there four hours late, at just the right time. She knew to confirm my whereabouts, and I knew to accept her wisdom. She told me that I was where God had intended for me to be. And so did I... It was more than chance. It was an aswer to the longest prayer of my life. I had been looking for a way out of the "sore spot". I had wandered around for years, looking for an out. I wanted to be set free. And all this time, the answer was simply waiting on me.
      The point of my revealing this is not to convert a non believer, or to win you over with promises of release. I'm sharing this story to let you know that whatever your struggle, ask the question! Don't let it go on... Relinquish yourself of blame. Live outside of pain. Receive your answer, because it's waiting. There is nothing you can't ask. Live in gratitude... We can all be free, regardless of our prison.

Selah - A Pause for Meditation

I've fumbled around with a few ideas for a blog post lately. I decided against them all... And decided to pause instead. I need a pause... I need moments of reflection and peace. Peace from myself, from despair and feelings of inadequacy. I need a break from comparison, expectation and excuse. So while baking red velvet cupcakes this morning, I listened to the immaculate Lauryn Hill sing to me about Selah. As well as the foolish things we tell ourselves to keep from facing the truth - mostly about ourselves. "Nothing can be done against the truth, no matter how we remain in denial. Wasting time replacing time with each empty excuse."


So today on my sweet son's 11th birthday, I'm taking cupcakes to his class. My hair in a ponytail, no makeup, in a red food coloring stained t-shirt and my favorite (elastic waist band) pants and dirty Kego's. And on the pan, along with 22 tiny cakes, I carry my love for my boy - for which there is no comparison... Today I just want to pause. To be myself in my clothes, in my home, with my people. My family.
Selah ~

A Deal for Pro-Lifers??

I suppose since this is my blog I can say whatever I want on it. And because of that I'll say that I'm personally quite liberal. I'm pro-choice, pro gay, pro anything that keeps people minding their own damn business and staying the hell out of mine. Politically I'm quite conservative, which is odd since conservatives want smaller government in every area EXCEPT people's personal lives. And liberals don't like executions (which I happen to think are awesome) but are in favor taking out an embryo. Whatever. It's all a load of horse shit distractions used by politicians to keep us busy while they ass root us via education, social security and medicare. They can pick our pockets and keep the free loaders happy by sending them a measly monthly check. Not enough to really live off of, just enough to make them think twice before voting for a conservative for fear the wretched "Right" will take away their hand out.

I babbled for a moment to bring me to my topic of choice tonight: A "Don't Kill the Babies, Sterilize the Parents" proposal that I believe should keep the masses quite content. A masterful plan to appease both sides of the abortion argument and still keep us all from being able to make too many personal decisions for ourselves.

I'm pro-choice for one reason and one reason only. I don't think an 11 year old who's raped by her stepfather, should have to give birth and get stretch marks and play Mommy or have her kid taken away and be destroyed as a human being all because some Mr. Mr. couldn't control himself (and will likely only serve 2 years for his crime - if that, anyway). I agree it's an over used procedure but I'd rather read in the paper that 1,000 women had abortions last Saturday than even ONE child was found like the 4 year old in Texas who was starved, dunked in ice water, beaten beyond recognition and hog tied. Then stuffed in a dresser drawer and was foud dead and stiff and had to be buried in that position because he couldn't be moved without cracking and breaking his body. TRUE STORY
So you tell me, which story did you prefer? Hog tied, dead toddler or a bunch of women terminated their pregnancies? If you prefer the dead toddler, you're sick and I don't want to know you. Never come back to this blog or come near me again :)

So! My proposal is this... There is obviously a large portion of the population that thinks they should have a right to tell a woman what she can and can not do with her own body and child. So in an effort to appease them I suggest that we outlaw abortions and opt for mandatory steralizations. If you have one or more children in the custody of the state or even a relative, you no longer get to procreate. If you're a stupid crack head loser who doesn't pay child support for the 8 kids you already have, then we'll de-activate your sperm. If you receive welfare benefits and can't support the children you already have then you should be forced to adopt a birth control method and have your benefits stripped if you get pregnant again. If you're caught exposing yourself to children or found peaking in windows, or convicted of any sexual crime against a woman or child then you should be chemically castrated and made to wear a tracking device.

This proposal keeps polticians and do-gooders in control of what others do and eliminates abortions. The pro-choicers like me have a majority of their issues resolved and it's a win-win. A way to get this idiotic topic off the table so that we can move on to more important things in the upcoming debates. Things like the cost of war, the ginormous deficit, sky rocketing health care costs, the piss-poor economy and junk like that. It will free up space in the minds of people who can't rationalize that pregnancy isn't a damn dream come true for a child who's been molested since she was six.

I hope that even if this post has offended the shit out of you that perhaps you'll take away a bit of a different perspective.

                                                                       THE END

Perfect...

“Maturity is the ability to think, speak and act your feelings within the bounds of dignity. The measure of your maturity is how spiritual you become during the midst of your frustrations.”

I found this by accident this evening and given the day's events - I have to acknowledge that stumbling upon these words might not have been accidental at all...

I've always tried to be introspective, honest with myself. I'm not always successful of course. I'm a bumbling human and have a great tendency to place blame anywhere other than on myself (especially when that's the likeliest place it belongs). But in all sincerity I try very hard to examine and re-examine my actions and my treatment of others and take corrective steps where there is fault in my behaviors. Again, I don't always succeed, but I make a great effort.

I've never found peace in solitude, never liked being alone for long periods of time either. I've had tremendous difficulty ending relationships that I knew were toxic and bad for me, but in recent years I've learned to break ties, burn bridges and put up walls. I've been a "yes" person,  always answering a call or an invitation, even when there was an obvious absence of reciprocity. There are people in my life who still only text or call when they have a favor to ask. I don't hear from these people when my parents are ill or I'm facing difficulty. I hear from them only when they want something from me. It's the course I've laid for myself with them and so I expect it and move on, helping when I can but feeling no great compulsion to fulfill their request at anything other than my leisure. That is the nature of our relationship. I've also cultivated friendships with people who I'd never have thought I'd have found common ground with. People who offer a kind word and encouragement when I can scarcely find the time to offer them the same. Relationships are funny aren't they? They bring us to the most amazing places... Then there are those that we take for granted. The relationships that we rely on and turn to and expect to always be there. A spouse or a best friend, a parent or a sibling... The binding blocks of our mortar that we would surely miss if they were gone. These are the places where we should take the most care and often take the least. I find myself in that same situation, even as I type this. But it was mutual. No one person was entirely at fault. It's where we place the greatest expectations that we find the greatest disappointments I believe. And where we feel a great expectation that we are most likely to disappoint...

I say this all with tremendous purpose. Because at the end of each day we lay down our heads with our whole hearts. All of our insides pour out onto our pillows... And who we are is evident in the chatter of our minds. Each day I hope to "speak and act my feelings within the bounds of dignity". If I am not always successful, it is certainly my desire to be. And the best that I can hope for is that that also is the desire of those who say they love me in return. I am not perfect and can not expect perfection in return. But it is the desire to achieve, to do better, to love greater, to be more in the presence of those we adore that should drive us to find "spirituality in the midst of our frustrations".

In this chapter of my life I aspire to cultivate relationships that bring me to a better place. I want to grow and be more in the presence of the love I'm given. I hope that I inspire those I love to do the same. There's no such thing as a perfect relationship. Only perfect love between imperfect people...

Mother Love

In recent years my mother has developed a series of complicated heart problems, the least of which has been heart disease. She's had many many procedures and tests as well as a cardiac defibrilator implanted. It goes without saying that all of these things have had a dramatic impact on her daily functions and quality of life. For years my mother has run circles around my sisters and I. She could always accomplish things, she always got things done! And for the last four years it seems as though her life has become one long list of things she'd like to get done.

Tomorrow morning at 8:00 am she'll have open heart, valve replacement surgery. It's made us more than a little bit nervous but we're very hopeful that it will be what she needs in order to resume a somewhat normal existence again.

With that being said, this post is in loving tribute to my always loving, less than normal, extremely wonderful and mostly adorable mother, Jennie.

My earliest memories of my mother begin when I was about 18 months old. (These are not recovered, associative memories, they're real. I have an almost photographic, uncanny long term memory that quite literally begins when I was a year and a half old). My memories are distinct and clear. My mother was always there. She held my hand, styled my hair, polished my nails, read stories to me, played games with me, held me in her lap, carried me in her arms, and administered more love and compassion than any child could have asked for. She has taught school for 30 years and is in my opinion, the only reason that my overly ADD ass made it through school. She taught me how to find main ideas, important points in texts, she taught me how to count dots on numbers and multiply without memorizing. She is the reason I love Valentine's Day and Easter. And she's been my greatest supporter for all of my life. She never bragged on me or critiqued me. She watched me with loving kindness and never stood in judgement. She didn't put me up to competition, enter me in beauty pageants or demand that I ever win at anything. She always told me that she didn't have to win anyone's approval of me. She loved me entirely for who I was - and I'll be damned if that didn't turn out to be enough! She's the reason I'm not sitting here today at 32 years old, wondering what I have to do to gain my mother's respect or love. I knew all of my life that I was loved... I've never had to look further than my mother to find all of the guidance, reassurance and protection that I've ever needed.

I am lucky to not only be her daughter but to be one of the three Gariepy girls who will know complete misery and misfortune when she leaves this Earth. I can't conceive that there is another woman who may be as mourned or as missed as she will be (years and years from now) when she leaves. How lucky am I that I get to love her so?

Shine a Light

This post is going to be a confession of sorts... A brutal, but truthful confession of what I've discovered to be very real about Heather.

The last couple of years have been an inward journey for me. I've confronted many of my weaknesses and stared down what I've come to dislike about myself. I've been determined to work on all the things I had decided were wrong with me. I've confronted deamons, excommunicated toxic people, worked on building patience, tried harder to keep time committments, tried to be less of a control freak and know-it-all, and I've even stopped verbally assaulting unsuspecting morons (in most cases). I've been consumed for years and years with what was wrong with me and have neglected to identify what was right with me and impove upon THAT. And today it hit me - instead of working like a plumber to fix all that was broken in me - perhaps I should have spent a little time expanding upon what was good, improving on what's right, shining brighter what was light inside of me. And then I had the horrible realization that I couldn't proudly exclaim very many things about myself that I actually liked. It was a painful, very private and dismal moment that solidified a lump in my throat and it made me as sad as I have ever been. Even as I type this I find that lump very difficult to swallow.

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a lady on the telephone who blurted out to me that she had been raped four years earlier. I didn't know her, we had never met and I was trying to discuss life insurance options with her when she awkwardly fumbled through the utterance as though she were confessing. I was unsure of what to say or how to advise her. And so I simply stated "It gets better. I swear on my life, it gets better. It won't always be this hard." She burst open like a damn, spilling out her grief and life's burdens. She was estranged from her only son and hadn't been able to get her life back together since the rape occurred. I sat there on the phone listening, remembering what it was like to wear those scars so boldly, so crazy. Even though our lives were not at all similar, I felt as though I was listening to a part of myself. I was absorbing the sounds of this broken woman, wondering all the while what in the world I would say to her when or if she ever finished spilling her words. She finally stopped talking and when she did I could tell immediately that she regretted it and wanted desperately to get off the phone. I let her go politely and then hid myself in the restroom at work and sobbed. I prayed for her and I prayed for myself - that all of us broken girls would get it together one day. I prayed I had been what she needed that day. I prayed that I never sounded quite so broken as she did. And I prayed that there really was a hell and that her attacker would quickly go to it.

I confess that after 17 years I still have no idea how to cope with the loss of my... whatever it is I lost that day. I can't identify what's missing and I can't tell you how I know it's not there anymore. It just isn't. But when I swallowed my self loathing today I can tell you I got a little of it back. I'm putting down the book of "What's Broken in Heather". I don't want to wear wounds or self pity any longer. No more internal conversations regarding what needs to be fixed. None of us are perfect. Most of us are extremely flawed... But I think that's what makes the best that's in us shine that much brighter. I can't keep trying to cover up and make up for what's not right with me. I have to find what's good and make it even better. And unless I start looking, how am I to find it???

Balls the size of Texas

     The older I get, the more convinced I become that I'm really not half as smart as I thought I was. I use to think I knew stuff but come to find out - I don't. I know a little bit about a lot of things but I dont' know a whole lot about very much. But I do know that people who join the United States Military have balls the size of Texas. I realize that they're not all the most amazing people on Earth and that they're human, just like the rest of us. But they commit to a job that I can't honestly tell you I myself would do if the pay were actually worth it. So with that being said I'd like to elaborate on something that I'm not sure I know that much about: the assassination of Osama Bin Laden...

     I don't have all of the details because I've been too tired and busy to absorb them, but I know that that terror of a terrorist is dead and that no elected official is responsible. I know that I despised George W. Bush as a president just as much as I despise Barack Obama. In my humble opinion neither of them is worth a shit as a human or as a president. Therefore I don't feel bad about saying that neither administration deserves much credit for doing anything about ridding the world of terrorists. GW got us into a costly war based on WoMD spook stories and Obama hasn't been in office long enough to do anything except scare me with tales of tax spooks. But everyone seems to have an opinion hell bent on a political victory of some sort. And all the posts and pictures and flyers and banners and propoganda in the world won't convince me that Obama killed Osama or vice versa. I'm not really a conspiracy theorist but I theorize there might be a conspiracy brewing. A conspiracy against good common sense and decency. And when Facebook battles brew over petty politics it only serves to disregard the truth. Claiming that Bush or Obama either one is responsible for the jobs our service men and women carry out is a slap in the face to every one of them who have died a world away from home in defense of our very right to disregard them. And the last time I checked, neither of the Presidents had jumped from a helicopter to storm a fortress and take down a mass murderer. They much prefer the comforts of mansions and proceeds from poorly written biographies. 

     These days I'm not really sure of what I know or what I don't know. But one thing I hope to always know, is gratitude. Gratitude for the 8 veterans in my family and for the millions of others who have served and continue to serve in our Armed Forces. And I'm smart enought to know that my balls aren't big enough to be counted among them. I just wish our politicians knew that about themselves...

***This post is attributed to my husband, who inspires me with his perspective***