It's Christmas Eve and there are a lot of things going through my mind. Mostly my heart goes out to some of my darling friends who are struggling this year. But I am also think of those women who face this time of year with trepidation rather than the spirit of love that this season should be.
Christmas can be a very stressful time for those who are in violent relationships. Anything and everything can be a trigger for violence. Too many presents, not enough presents, the food served too early, not enough food or alcohol, things not being right. I used to dread Christmas. My ex would never participate in the buying and wrapping of presents, or even filling the kids Sant sacks. I did it all. And despite the fact it was just the four of us I was still expected to cook a full on traditional lunch. I hated it. There was not time to relax and enjoy the day with the kids. It wasn't uncommon for me to have at least one lot of tears during the day. And the aftermath was just as bad. the post-Christmas blues were severe. But I had it lucky. I never feared for my physical safety. Many others do.
Even after the marriage has ended it doesn't get a lot better. Christmas can mean forced contact with an abusive ex, always an opportunity for perpetuating abuse. Expensive presents can be used to try and buy a child's love. And, as in my case, it can mean being unable to spend the holiday with family. My family live too far away to make contact with them practical when I have to hand the kids over after lunch to their father But still, I am lucky. The abuse has ended, even if the consequences live on.
So when you are opening your presents and pulling your Christmas crackers keep an ear out. There may be a neighbour who needs your help to survive the day safely.
Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The double-edged sword of isolation
Isolation is one of the hardest things I deal with in my life. It is both my prison and my haven. If it is broken without my being prepared for it, it can cause me a huge amount of anxiety. I noticed this over the past couple of days. I had an issue with a tap at the house that required repair. So the owner came out and checked, which I wasn't prepared for. He just turned up. That threw me but I coped. Yes, my heart was racing and I jumped at every noise but it was bareable. He said he would organise a plumber, so I was prepared for that. What I wasn't prepared for was that he came back with the plumber, and brought a mate and his mate's kid. That really threw me. The whole time they were here I felt like I was under threat. Now, none of them did anything in the least bit threatening, but that was how I felt. It was the same today when the owner turned up unannounced to finish the repair.
I have grown so used to my isolation. During my marriage it was a defence mechanism; if I didn't have to be around people then they wouldn't know how bad I was feeling. To actually go out and spend time with people was so hard for me. The anxiety it produced was nearly paralysing. I never felt like I was good enough to be around other people, that there wasn't anything remotely likable about me and therefore I had to make myself of use to others. I still struggle with this at times, but not as much. Now I just have times when I am mystified about why people like me, perhaps because I have always struggled to find anything about myself that is worth liking.
To have people in my house, particularly during the later years of the marriage, was even worse. It meant that people would be in my protective sphere, not that it was particularly protective for the real problems in my life. To have a Candle Party, ot a Linen Party, no matter how much I wanted to, nearly drove me over the edge. When it was over I would be utterly drained, for days afterwards.
Yet isolation was such a prison during that time. I had been moved away from family and friends and starting over, yet again, was so hard for me. I think that was mainly because I just didn't like myself, I saw nothing of worth inside. But I craved the company of others. I wanted so much those times when friends would just drop in for a chat or the kids friends could come over. Yet for that to happen....well, again, the anxiety was unbelievable. I needed to break through the isolation but really didn't have a clue how to. I still don't a lot of the time.
In so many ways the steps I have taken in breaking the isolation, regardless of how hestiant and incomplete they are, have been the key to my healing. I have been lucky, blessed even, to find friends, both online and in real life who do like me, who do care. It is with the support of those friends that I have been able to access professional assistance and find safety for myself. I haven't broken they isolation completely, nor am I completely healed, but things are better than they were.
The main reason I have isolated myself is for protection. I didn't want to be hurt anymore, or again. I didn't want to love others, as I have come to love my friends, for fear of being hurt and let down again. And I didn't want to lose people I cared about, as happens so often in my life. But loving people and moving on, or having them move on, is a part of life. I know that. Yet sometimes it still seems so much easier to isolate myself, physically and emotionally, than to take the risk again. Being hurt the way I have been has left such a huge mark on my life that I just don't know who I am anymore.
I have grown so used to my isolation. During my marriage it was a defence mechanism; if I didn't have to be around people then they wouldn't know how bad I was feeling. To actually go out and spend time with people was so hard for me. The anxiety it produced was nearly paralysing. I never felt like I was good enough to be around other people, that there wasn't anything remotely likable about me and therefore I had to make myself of use to others. I still struggle with this at times, but not as much. Now I just have times when I am mystified about why people like me, perhaps because I have always struggled to find anything about myself that is worth liking.
To have people in my house, particularly during the later years of the marriage, was even worse. It meant that people would be in my protective sphere, not that it was particularly protective for the real problems in my life. To have a Candle Party, ot a Linen Party, no matter how much I wanted to, nearly drove me over the edge. When it was over I would be utterly drained, for days afterwards.
Yet isolation was such a prison during that time. I had been moved away from family and friends and starting over, yet again, was so hard for me. I think that was mainly because I just didn't like myself, I saw nothing of worth inside. But I craved the company of others. I wanted so much those times when friends would just drop in for a chat or the kids friends could come over. Yet for that to happen....well, again, the anxiety was unbelievable. I needed to break through the isolation but really didn't have a clue how to. I still don't a lot of the time.
In so many ways the steps I have taken in breaking the isolation, regardless of how hestiant and incomplete they are, have been the key to my healing. I have been lucky, blessed even, to find friends, both online and in real life who do like me, who do care. It is with the support of those friends that I have been able to access professional assistance and find safety for myself. I haven't broken they isolation completely, nor am I completely healed, but things are better than they were.
The main reason I have isolated myself is for protection. I didn't want to be hurt anymore, or again. I didn't want to love others, as I have come to love my friends, for fear of being hurt and let down again. And I didn't want to lose people I cared about, as happens so often in my life. But loving people and moving on, or having them move on, is a part of life. I know that. Yet sometimes it still seems so much easier to isolate myself, physically and emotionally, than to take the risk again. Being hurt the way I have been has left such a huge mark on my life that I just don't know who I am anymore.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Not a Proper Victim?
Remember Elizabeth Smart, the 14 year old girl who was kidnapped by a monster and held captive for 9 months? News has broken that nearly eight years later the monster has been found guilty. A victory for the legal system and testament to the strength of this young woman, who testified for three days about the rapes and abuse she lived with during that horrific 9 month period. Many of the news articles I have seen make comment about the smile on Miss Smart's face as she left the court after the verdict was announced. And why shouldn't she smile?
However it seems that many of those commenting on the articles have an issue with the fact that she was smiling. See THIS ARTICLE, for example.
For the life of me I could not fathom why people should be concerned about this courageous young woman smiling about what is obviously good news for her and her family. Then it struck me; she isn't acting like a 'proper' victim.
Victims of sexual assault are still expected to hold the shame of what was done to them. They are expected to be distraught and distressed, hysterical even, some would say. They are expected to live their lives in the shadows and never leave home again. They are expected to have fought their attackers, regardless of the potential consequences and to have reported their crime immediately. 'Proper' victims of rape and sexual assault are not meant to be self-assured, confident looking young women. They are not meant to speak clearly and openly in court about what was done to them.
I, for one, am exceptionally happy to see that Elizabeth Smart is able to live her life and be happy that justice has been done. I do not, however, think for one minute that those nine months didn't leave scars that will affect the rest of her life.
I wonder what the comments would have been like if Miss Smart did behave as a 'proper' victim should; if she had been teary, depressed, anxious and fearful (not to say that she isn't all those things, just that that wasn't the public face she presented). Would we have then read comments about how it was so long ago, she was safe now, she should forget about it, put it behind her? I believe we would have.
My wish for the world is that we could accept the reactions of survivors and victims without the often less than subtle judgement that rests behind many comments. Maybe then more of us would feel as though we could be open about what happened and persue the justice we all deserve.
However it seems that many of those commenting on the articles have an issue with the fact that she was smiling. See THIS ARTICLE, for example.
For the life of me I could not fathom why people should be concerned about this courageous young woman smiling about what is obviously good news for her and her family. Then it struck me; she isn't acting like a 'proper' victim.
Victims of sexual assault are still expected to hold the shame of what was done to them. They are expected to be distraught and distressed, hysterical even, some would say. They are expected to live their lives in the shadows and never leave home again. They are expected to have fought their attackers, regardless of the potential consequences and to have reported their crime immediately. 'Proper' victims of rape and sexual assault are not meant to be self-assured, confident looking young women. They are not meant to speak clearly and openly in court about what was done to them.
I, for one, am exceptionally happy to see that Elizabeth Smart is able to live her life and be happy that justice has been done. I do not, however, think for one minute that those nine months didn't leave scars that will affect the rest of her life.
I wonder what the comments would have been like if Miss Smart did behave as a 'proper' victim should; if she had been teary, depressed, anxious and fearful (not to say that she isn't all those things, just that that wasn't the public face she presented). Would we have then read comments about how it was so long ago, she was safe now, she should forget about it, put it behind her? I believe we would have.
My wish for the world is that we could accept the reactions of survivors and victims without the often less than subtle judgement that rests behind many comments. Maybe then more of us would feel as though we could be open about what happened and persue the justice we all deserve.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Slacktivism or a Million Quiet Voices?
Last weekend saw a campaign on Facebook where members were changing their profile pictures to those of cartoon characters from their childhood. The aim was to promote awareness of child abuse. I chose to change my picture and post the status to share the idea because I thought it a good one. To me it was representative of the invisibility of childhood abuse of all kinds. And it got people talking, if not always for the right reasons.
Firstly there was the usual Facebook panic about the trend being linked to paedophiles. Supposedly by using cartoon characters as their profile pics they could get a child to accept a friendship request quicker. Hoax Slayer discusses here why it isn't so.
Finally there were those who decided that this campaign quite simply wasn't good enough and berrated others for simply posting a cartoon picture and not taking "real" action by donating money and volunteering their time. This is the one that really irks me. What gives anybody the right to assume that just because a person posted a cartoon profile picture that they do not do anything else to support the cause of ending child abuse? And who is the great authority that declares what exactly "real" activism is?Yes, it would be nice if everybody donated to their local Non-government, not-for-profit organisation that supports children who have been abused. Even better if could throw money at a cause and actually have it lead to the world-wide erradication of the plague that is child abuse. In an ideal world maybe.....
There are lots of reasons why people latch onto the simple actions like the Facebook one rather that throw themselves and all their assets into a cause. Maybe they simply don't have the time or the money to help like they would like to. Maybe they are taking the simple way out, but is it really a way that causes less thought or discussion than buying a red nose, a bandana or a ribbon? Or maybe they believe that a million quiet voices can actually make one hell of a noise.
Personally I believe that if a person chooses to support a cause then the manner in which they choose to do so should be one they are comfortable with. I have chosen to be active in fighting for awareness of violence against women, specifically in the form of Intimate Partner Sexual Violence. There is no ribbon for this specific cause, no special awareness day, no people wearing funny noses or jeans or head coverings. Instead it tends to be both covered and caught between sexual assault and domestic violence awareness. This has meant that I have very much had to find my own way, and learn from the example of those who have gone before me.
My way of raising awareness of IPSV has been to speak out or write about it. Intitially I did this by posting my story, somewhat anonymously, on the website Aphrodite Wounded. You can read it HERE. I have also written other articles that were aimed at both professionals in the field of domestic violence and the wider community. These tend to be a mix of personal experience and academic research. You can find one HERE. I also joined a choir attached to my local women's services/DV centre (unfortunately the choir has since been disbanded). The choir performed occasionally, singing songs that raised awareness of violence against women and the potential for women to regain strength and determination. During performances some of the women would speak, telling their stories and using their experiences to help educate those we entertained. At the choir's last performance I told my story.
Speaking out and writing about my experiences is the way I am most comfortable in raising awareness about IPSV. It is no less a cause for not being able to donate or volunteer. Raising awareness, breaking down the silence that surrounds so many forms of abuse (including school-yard bullying and workplace harrassment) is, to me, the single biggest step that needs to be taken. How I choose to take that step is up to me and all I ask is that others respect that, just as I will always respect that others support their own prefered causes in their own way. It doesn't make any of it wrong, or not enough, or pointless because it is, quite simply, better than doing nothing because doing nothing allows silence to continue to shroud interpersonal violence of all sorts.
Firstly there was the usual Facebook panic about the trend being linked to paedophiles. Supposedly by using cartoon characters as their profile pics they could get a child to accept a friendship request quicker. Hoax Slayer discusses here why it isn't so.
Finally there were those who decided that this campaign quite simply wasn't good enough and berrated others for simply posting a cartoon picture and not taking "real" action by donating money and volunteering their time. This is the one that really irks me. What gives anybody the right to assume that just because a person posted a cartoon profile picture that they do not do anything else to support the cause of ending child abuse? And who is the great authority that declares what exactly "real" activism is?Yes, it would be nice if everybody donated to their local Non-government, not-for-profit organisation that supports children who have been abused. Even better if could throw money at a cause and actually have it lead to the world-wide erradication of the plague that is child abuse. In an ideal world maybe.....
There are lots of reasons why people latch onto the simple actions like the Facebook one rather that throw themselves and all their assets into a cause. Maybe they simply don't have the time or the money to help like they would like to. Maybe they are taking the simple way out, but is it really a way that causes less thought or discussion than buying a red nose, a bandana or a ribbon? Or maybe they believe that a million quiet voices can actually make one hell of a noise.
Personally I believe that if a person chooses to support a cause then the manner in which they choose to do so should be one they are comfortable with. I have chosen to be active in fighting for awareness of violence against women, specifically in the form of Intimate Partner Sexual Violence. There is no ribbon for this specific cause, no special awareness day, no people wearing funny noses or jeans or head coverings. Instead it tends to be both covered and caught between sexual assault and domestic violence awareness. This has meant that I have very much had to find my own way, and learn from the example of those who have gone before me.
My way of raising awareness of IPSV has been to speak out or write about it. Intitially I did this by posting my story, somewhat anonymously, on the website Aphrodite Wounded. You can read it HERE. I have also written other articles that were aimed at both professionals in the field of domestic violence and the wider community. These tend to be a mix of personal experience and academic research. You can find one HERE. I also joined a choir attached to my local women's services/DV centre (unfortunately the choir has since been disbanded). The choir performed occasionally, singing songs that raised awareness of violence against women and the potential for women to regain strength and determination. During performances some of the women would speak, telling their stories and using their experiences to help educate those we entertained. At the choir's last performance I told my story.
Speaking out and writing about my experiences is the way I am most comfortable in raising awareness about IPSV. It is no less a cause for not being able to donate or volunteer. Raising awareness, breaking down the silence that surrounds so many forms of abuse (including school-yard bullying and workplace harrassment) is, to me, the single biggest step that needs to be taken. How I choose to take that step is up to me and all I ask is that others respect that, just as I will always respect that others support their own prefered causes in their own way. It doesn't make any of it wrong, or not enough, or pointless because it is, quite simply, better than doing nothing because doing nothing allows silence to continue to shroud interpersonal violence of all sorts.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
A Normal Day for Me
One legacy of the Intimate Partner Sexual Violence I survived (and other incidents of sexual violence earlier in my life) is that I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. On a really good day this doesn't mean much. I might be a little more vigalent about the noises the house makes as it settles at night, and maybe some anxiety when I am driving. On a really bad day it can be nearly paralysing. Every unexpected sounds makes me jump out of my skin, loud noise makes me feel physically ill, sleep is a joke and nightmares are common.
The reality is, though, that most days fall somewhere in between those two extremes. So what is a normal day like?
A normal day sees my anxiety levels increase steadily so that by the time the kids go to bed I have a hard time settling enough to concentrate on anything. I have my routine and I stick to it. Anything that breaks that routine feels like a catastrophy. Some days I am paralysed by indecision and nothing gets done. It feels as if there is so much to do that I just do nothing. Other days I do everything in a near manic state.
If I do have to go out it is carefully planned. I have to arrive where I am going early because being an hour early is easier to cope with than being five minutes late. I plan what time I will have to leave to ensure that I will be able to pick the kids up on time. I consider who I am seeing and how hard I will need to work on being 'normal'. If the day goes well then my anxiety levels will return to their usual level of a low, background rumble. If anything doesn't go to plan, if I say more than I mean to, if any number of different things occur, then my mood will drop severely and my anxiety will increase.
Driving anywhere, especially when I am tired, can be a drama. Handbrake starts at red lights can bring me to near panic, as can sharing the road with trucks. By the time I have finished all the runnning around for the day I am generally emotionally drained and therefore less tolerant of the kids being...well, being kids, I guess. By the time they go to bed I will frequently be so restless as to not be able to settle to anything or my mood too low to feel that I can connect with anyone. It is an effort on those nights to make contact with anyone, be it family or friends. At the same time it is the time of day when I crave contact the most. A house where you are the only one awake can feel dreadfully lonely.
As the evening wears on I watch the clock, mentally calculating how soon I need to be asleep to get eight hours sleep that night. Yet I rarely manage to get myself to bed by that time. I stick to a set routine to settle myself at night in the hopes that I can quiet my brain enough to actually sleep. Some nights it works. Other nights I will toss and turn and berate myself for things that have happened during the day, or things I should have said or done. Eventually I sleep, only to have to do it all again about 6 hours later.
I know that the anxiety and depression I live with is a direct result of having been traumatised. I know that the PTSD sypmtoms can flare up unexpectedly for any reason, or no reason at all. I know, logically, that things will get better with time and that I am the only person who expects me to be 'normal' all of the time. I know that isolating myself and beating up on myself for my reactions only makes things worse. I know all of this yet it is still so very hard to deal with. PTSD is a fact of life for me, and probably always will be to some degree. But it can also be very isolating because it is so hard to explain to others. There are tjhings in life that you simply cannot "just get over." I am lucky that I have many people in my life who understand and accept that of me. Maybe one day I will be able to accept it in myself.
Carz
The reality is, though, that most days fall somewhere in between those two extremes. So what is a normal day like?
A normal day sees my anxiety levels increase steadily so that by the time the kids go to bed I have a hard time settling enough to concentrate on anything. I have my routine and I stick to it. Anything that breaks that routine feels like a catastrophy. Some days I am paralysed by indecision and nothing gets done. It feels as if there is so much to do that I just do nothing. Other days I do everything in a near manic state.
If I do have to go out it is carefully planned. I have to arrive where I am going early because being an hour early is easier to cope with than being five minutes late. I plan what time I will have to leave to ensure that I will be able to pick the kids up on time. I consider who I am seeing and how hard I will need to work on being 'normal'. If the day goes well then my anxiety levels will return to their usual level of a low, background rumble. If anything doesn't go to plan, if I say more than I mean to, if any number of different things occur, then my mood will drop severely and my anxiety will increase.
Driving anywhere, especially when I am tired, can be a drama. Handbrake starts at red lights can bring me to near panic, as can sharing the road with trucks. By the time I have finished all the runnning around for the day I am generally emotionally drained and therefore less tolerant of the kids being...well, being kids, I guess. By the time they go to bed I will frequently be so restless as to not be able to settle to anything or my mood too low to feel that I can connect with anyone. It is an effort on those nights to make contact with anyone, be it family or friends. At the same time it is the time of day when I crave contact the most. A house where you are the only one awake can feel dreadfully lonely.
As the evening wears on I watch the clock, mentally calculating how soon I need to be asleep to get eight hours sleep that night. Yet I rarely manage to get myself to bed by that time. I stick to a set routine to settle myself at night in the hopes that I can quiet my brain enough to actually sleep. Some nights it works. Other nights I will toss and turn and berate myself for things that have happened during the day, or things I should have said or done. Eventually I sleep, only to have to do it all again about 6 hours later.
I know that the anxiety and depression I live with is a direct result of having been traumatised. I know that the PTSD sypmtoms can flare up unexpectedly for any reason, or no reason at all. I know, logically, that things will get better with time and that I am the only person who expects me to be 'normal' all of the time. I know that isolating myself and beating up on myself for my reactions only makes things worse. I know all of this yet it is still so very hard to deal with. PTSD is a fact of life for me, and probably always will be to some degree. But it can also be very isolating because it is so hard to explain to others. There are tjhings in life that you simply cannot "just get over." I am lucky that I have many people in my life who understand and accept that of me. Maybe one day I will be able to accept it in myself.
Carz
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