by Band Back Together | Jun 18, 2014 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Forgiveness, Intimate Partner Rape, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sadness, Trust |
I was laying in my bed with him, and we were kissing. It was nice. I was having fun. Then, he put his hand in my pants in a way he’d done before, but this time, I had explicitly asked him not to. After all, my family was home.
I told him to stop. I said no. I said please. He would take his hand out of my pants after several moments of my insistence, but it kept managing to snake it’s way back down there. Every time, it was the same. I would protest and, temporarily, he would grudgingly comply, until he decided again that I didn’t really mean my protestations.
One time, when we were just first dating, he asked me how to know when he should stop. I told him that it he did something I didn’t like or didn’t want him to do, I would tell him. He said okay. But when it came down to it, he didn’t listen.
After it happened, he apologized over text, citing what I had said when we first started dating about letting him know when I was uncomfortable. I felt guilty, and sad, and hollow, and dirty, and I didn’t know why. I think if I had known, I wouldn’t have forgiven him so easily, simply warning him not to do it again.
I didn’t realize what exactly had happened until months after the fact. I was reading Full Frontal Feminism by Jessica Valenti (great book) and I came across a definition of sexual assault. I realized that the incident with my ex-boyfriend fit the definition of unwanted sexual contact. More importantly, I realized that the weight on my shoulders and the uneasy feeling in my stomach had a valid reason for plaguing me. I realized I FELT like a victim of sexual assault.
I felt violated, and by someone I had trusted.
We broke up after that happened, but before my epiphany, because he was an unsupportive jerk with the inability to listen. He doesn’t know that I think he’s a predator, a source of fear and anguish. I want him to know, though. I want everyone to know, because it could happen to any girl or woman. After all, it happened to me, and what am I? A well-to-do, privileged, white, cisgendered straight person. I’m not the sort of person people think this happens to. But my gender identity, my sexuality, my race, or socioeconomic class don’t matter. It doesn’t matter that he was my boyfriend, that I had consented in the past or that I would consent again in the future. I said no. And no doesn’t mean anything but NO.
I am a victim of sexual assault. It hurts me. But it is what it is. All I can do is move on, deal with it, and try to help others deal with their experiences as well. I have no animosity towards him. Just sadness. Just a sense of defeat. Just a hollow ache inside of me. I don’t think he realized the severity of his actions, or how they affected me. He didn’t mean any harm. It’s no excuse, but to me, it’s enough reason not to press charges. I hope I can someday have to courage to inform him of what he did to me. To let him know that it was wrong and he should never do it again. Perhaps once I’ve healed a bit. I just hope he doesn’t hurt anyone else in the interim.
by Band Back Together | Jun 4, 2014 | A Letter I Can't Send, Anger, Bullying, Forgiveness, Infidelity, Trust |
We all have letters we’d like to send, but know that we can’t. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser.
Letters where actual contact is just not possible.
Do you have a letter you can’t send?
Why not send it to The Band?
Emily,
I thought about changing your name for this but then I realized, nope, screw that. You didn’t care about my feelings when you did what you did, why should I protect you?
I was going through a really hard time when you and I met. I had been dealing with infertility and wasn’t taking it well. We weren’t telling anyone we were trying to have a baby yet, so no one knew why I was fighting with depression as much as I was.
We were still fairly new to the area, and I was desparate for friendship. That’s where you came in. Your office was right next to mine, and we both had a lot of down-time with our individual jobs. We had a lot in common, so our friendship came naturally.
We confided in each other. Neither of us was in a stable marriage. Your husband preferred to go hunting rather than spend time with you. My husband liked hanging out with his friends after work instead of coming home.
I didn’t approve when my boss’ marriage started to fall apart and you flirted with him. You were not appropriate with how you handled that situation. But then one of our co-workers started paying attention to me. I won’t lie. I liked the attention. My husband was ignoring me, and this guy was cute.
I regret that I flirted with him.
Unlike you, I kept my flirtation to just at work. There was nothing more to it than two people who were attracted to each other who talked and flirted at work. I didn’t take breaks with him. I didn’t go anywhere alone with him. Did you know that when I took my breaks, I was in my office working on a Christmas gift for my husband?
You, on the other hand, took my boss out for lunch, just the two of you. You even went so far as to throw a party when your husband was out of town and invited a bunch of guys (and only one girl) from work to the party. There was drinking and craziness, and you admitted to groping my boss. I knew he was too emotionally distraught to return your inappropriate behavior, but I was less than impressed with what you were doing.
Then came that horrible night when my husband confronted me about my supposed affair. He repeated things back to me that I had told you in confidence. My words had been twisted to sound like I was guilty of much more than a mild flirtation. He accused me of a full-blown affair and implied that I was using this other guy to try to get pregnant. He said that I had been seen leaving with this other guy and we had been seen holding hands and kissing. You know as well as I do that that never happened.
He had his mind set that I was cheating on him and anything I said was a lie. I wish I could say I was 100% innocent, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
We were leaving the next day on vacation. We still went. We talked through things and eventually he said he believed me that I hadn’t cheated.
What I couldn’t figure out was how he’d found out the specific things I had said. I had trusted you. Your sister-in-law also worked for the same company we all worked for. I figured you’d blabbed to her and things got back to him through the company grapevine.
We returned from vacation, and I went back to work. I still considered you my friend, but I was much more careful about what I said to you because clearly you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. I completely severed any friendship with our co-worker as soon as I returned. I requested a transfer to a different location, so my husband wouldn’t have to worry about me being around our co-worker.
A few years passed. I found out that the whole time my husband had been “hanging out with friends” after work, he had actually been having multiple affairs. While he never admitted to anything, I had learned to read between the lines to figure out what was going on. One day, he let enough information slip that I figured out you two were sleeping together. All that time I thought I could trust you, not only were you having sex with him, you were reporting back to him everything I said – twisting it to sound like I was mocking my marriage.
I looked you up online recently. I was happy to see your first husband divorced you. I wonder how much of his not being around you was caused by his knowledge of your behavior.
I’m still very angry. I’m angry at all of the women who knew my now-ex-husband was married and chose to have sex with him anyway. I’m angry with the people who knew about his cheating and didn’t tell me. I’m especially angry with you for pretending to be my friend while betraying me in the worst way possible. I don’t want to be angry anymore. The fact is, you’re not worth my anger.
I’ve moved on. I haven’t had any contact with my ex in years. I’m happily married and busy raising my kids. I don’t need to hold on to the past. I’m hoping that writing this letter and releasing it out to the world will help me to forgive you for your actions.
So I’m going to say it, even though I don’t feel it yet, in hopes that I’ll feel it soon.
I forgive you.
by Band Back Together | Apr 1, 2014 | Childhood Bullying, Coping With Bullying, Forgiveness, How To Heal From Being Bullied, Loneliness, Parent Loss, Self-Esteem |
Hi, I found your web site yesterday and decided it is time to seek friends who understand me and what I went through.
I was bullied in third grade on up to graduation. I talk to friends about it and they tell me I need to forgive the bullies. I have, but the pain resurfaces at times. Sometimes, I cry and just feel so alone and sad.
I had friends until the middle of third grade. One day, we were out on the playground, and all the girls in my class got around me. They pushed me, and I couldn’t get away. After that day, I had no girl friends in my class. The boys were always nice to me. My parents went to the bullies’ houses and talked with the parents, but they all still treated me differently from that day on.
In fifth grade, I went out for basketball where I met a bully on the other team. She hated me. She was there again in sixth grade, still hating me. In seventh grade I was put in her same section because they ran out of room in the higher section. What a sad reason to put someone where it would be scary. No one from my elementary school was in my section. I was alone with the tough kids, and I was scared to death. I found out later, that girl and some others were doing drugs.
In ninth grade, my daddy died, and I was even more alone. One night, I couldn’t breathe. Mom called the ambulance. I was taken to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with allergies and a cold. As I think back, I wonder if it was a panic attack.
In tenth grade, my entire English class was busted for drugs, except me. I never did drugs.
In high school, I finally started making friends, but I had to be careful. I didn’t want to get too close to one friend because she was loose. I didn’t need her reputation adding to my problems. I met another friend in summer school. She had been picked on too, but we didn’t have the same classes.
After I turned 16 and learned to drive, I learned to square dance. I always wanted to learn how. The other people there were older then me, and became parents and grandparents to me. I finally felt accepted.
I identify with Joseph in the Bible. What people meant as harm to him, God turned around for good. God always kept me safe and protected. If it weren’t for the situation I was in, who knows what trouble I could have gotten in. I have forgiven my bullies, but the pain and scars are still there, and will always be there. Sometimes the loneliness gets so great, I just sit and cry.
I have a wonderful hubby, sons, and mom, and I know they don’t understand me. I have been reading about triggers, and how they can take you right back to a bad situation. That is what I have been dealing with for the past two days. I have been crying a lot. After a church meeting last year, I asked to sit down with some ladies. One of them old me it was a private conversation, which triggered me right back to feeling like being left out in school. I ended up leaving that church because it was too painful and brought up too many triggers.
I love people, being around them and talking to them. I went to broadcasting school, and it brought me out of my shyness. Mom says that was priceless. I was once told that I was treated the way I was because the kids thought I was a snob. It made me laugh because it was just the opposite. I wasn’t a snob, just extremely shy with low self-esteem.
Thanks for listening, God bless.
by Band Back Together | Dec 21, 2010 | Coping With Depression, Faith, Forgiveness, Major Depressive Disorder, Trust |
As I’ve been reading through a number of the posts and comments here on BBT, I’ve been struck by the number of people who use faith and religion as a source of healing and inspiration. I also sense there might be people struggling despite this quality.
I hope this message comes across with the simple, positive intention with which I write it.
It’s OK if you DON’T have faith.
I was born and raised/indoctrinated Roman Catholic. I had the simple, uncomplicated trust in the doctrine and the stories that any child has, because I–like all children–was incapable of taking them at anything but face value.
But my life experiences and my questioning nature have destroyed not only my belief in Catholicism, but in the existence of a God, as well. The older I got, the more the placid off-the-shelf answers of the clergy rang hollow and hypocritical. I found honesty in those who admitted to now knowing all the answers, rather than trying to rationalize why the real world doesn’t always follow dogma. As comedian Julia Sweeney put it so elegantly, the universe functions exactly as you would expect if there were no God.
To some, this is a nihilistic statement, but to a skeptic, it is a positive affirmation in which we take strength. And–are you ready for this? Brace yourselves–I’m MORE at peace now than I was when I believed in God.
Now that I have left behind a belief system that did not work for me (and has failed countless others throughout the centuries), I now turn to means of self-healing that actually WORK.
I no longer see depression, self-loathing, and shame as the reaped harvest of sown sins. I see them as medical and psychological problems for which there is medicine and counseling available. Whenever I do wrong to another person, I no longer seek the sanctity of the confessional; I seek that person’s forgiveness. It’s more satisfying. I never did find comfort in prayer, especially Catholic prayer (every time I hear the word “rosary,” my eyes glaze over). Instead, I find great peace in the meditative and physiological healing of exercise, namely cycling and, more recently, running. I no longer seek answers in an ancient text which cannot provide them. I seek comfort in my great friends.
The stories I have read on this site have moved me sincerely to tears. I admire the resiliency of those who have overcome trials that would have broken me. To those who are struggling, I have a simple plea: take comfort in good people. It is the most soothing formula I have ever found.
Peace.
by Band Back Together | Nov 26, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Baby Loss, Compassion, Coping With Baby Loss, Faith, Family, Feelings, Forgiveness, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Hope, How To Help A Friend With Infertility, Infertility, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Medical Mystery Tour, Miscarriage, Pain And Pain Disorders, Rheumatoid Arthritis |
*I know that not everyone out there is a Christian and I hope that nobody will take offense to this post. My faith is a very personal thing, but it helps me get through so much. My prayer is that everyone dealing with a life crisis will find something that will bring them peace and hope, whether it’s faith in God, faith in humanity, or faith in herself.
When I wrote about my miscarriages and TTC journey, it was the hardest piece I’d ever written. What I left out, though, was the behind the scenes issues. The emotions that I’m still ashamed of feeling. That probably sounds stupid. I mean, you can’t help how you feel about things so why feel shame? Well, it’s been six years and I still do, so I guess I can’t answer that.
When Jordan and I decided to start trying to get pregnant, we didn’t broadcast it, but we also didn’t hide it when people asked. And people did ask. We’d been married over a year at that point, and apparently that’s the time that everyone from your grandma to the cashier at the grocery store deems you ready to have a child. But when we realized we would need a little help expanding our family, we clamped our mouths shut. Our families and closest friends were the only people who knew what we were going through. But when we got that first positive test, we told everyone! I’ve never been the best at keeping my feelings under wraps and we were thrilled.
A few days before I got that positive test, my sister-in-law gave me the news that her sister-in-law was pregnant. I was pretty discouraged at that time thinking that the round of Clomid I had just finished had not worked. But here was this girl (who I love dearly, BTW) who had become pregnant accidentally. It hardly seemed fair.
But then I found out that the Clomid had actually done its job and all was right with the world again. I could be happy for my sister-in-law sister-in-law-in-law sister-in friend, if a little worried for her. After all, my faith had always dictated that “everything happens for a reason.” But then it all changed.
During the few days that encompassed the fateful ultrasound experience and gut-wrenching D&C, I lost more than my baby. I lost my faith.
I left the hospital a bitter, heartbroken person that I no longer recognized. I was angry at the world. I was angry at God. I didn’t go to church. I didn’t pray. I didn’t even sing; something that has always been my solace. For three months I was in this dark pit. Every time someone who didn’t know would ask about the pregnancy and we had to break the news again, I sank further.
At that time, I worked for an agency that provided low-income housing. It seemed like every other day I encountered another woman who was expecting yet another child that she couldn’t afford. All these women around me were getting pregnant so easily, some while actively trying to prevent it, and having the healthy babies that I wanted so badly. I couldn’t understand why I was being treated so unfairly. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the baby shower for my brother-in-law’s sister. Every time I saw a pregnant woman I would cry.
It kills me to finally admit those things. There are very few people in this world that I’ve told about that dark time. I still feel guilty for being so angry. But if my first miscarriage caused me to lose my faith, my second one brought me back.
My second miscarriage happened on a Saturday morning. I was in the ER for a few hours then sent home. The next day at our church was Youth Sunday. I hadn’t been to church in three months at that point, but Jordan’s best friend, David, was delivering the message that day, so I insisted on being there. Not many people at church had known I was pregnant that time, so we didn’t really have to talk about the loss.
Something happened that Sunday morning, though. The youth members all did a great job with their testimonies, prayers, and music. David delivered a beautiful message. And then the youth sang a song to tie it all together – Here I Am Lord. I had heard the song a hundred times before. I had sung it about half that many times. But that day, I actually listened to it. It suddenly spoke to my heart in a way I had never felt before. Thank God we were sitting in the balcony so the whole congregation didn’t see me burst into tears.
I suddenly was at peace. After being angry for so long, it was an incredible feeling to let go of it. In that moment I knew that, like Abraham and Sarah, we would eventually have a child. And that there was a reason for my losses. I knew that it was going to fall to me at some point to support others going through it.
I was able to do just that several months later when my best friend had her first miscarriage. I’ve reached out to others as well – old high school friends on Facebook, a friend at church, etc. It’s what I hope to accomplish by contributing to this site. It also sort of paved the way for me to do the same thing as soon as I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis in 2008. Since then I’ve found myself in something of an online support network of people living with chronic illness. Without that moment of clarity, I’m convinced I would still be that bitter person. I’m sure that the RA diagnosis would have been much worse than it was, emotionally speaking. I honestly don’t know how I would have made it through either of my full-term pregnancies, much less through a certainty of life-long pain, had I not had that renewal of faith.
I didn’t tell anyone about what happened to me that day until a few months ago when Jordan and I had the privilege to see David ordained. I figured that was probably the right time to tell him about the impact he had on me that Sunday so long ago. Today, my relationship with God is the most important thing to me. Through Him, I can do anything. There are days when I just need a nudge and there are days when I’m forced to ask Him to carry me. And I’ve come to realize that everything truly does happen for a reason, even if that reason isn’t revealed during this earthly life. But the choices we make when facing hardship will usually go a long way to reaching that revelation.
“But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.” ~ Isaiah 40:31
by Band Back Together | Oct 26, 2010 | Abuse, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Feelings, Forgiveness, Stress, Trauma |
One MAJOR roadblock I had when I reclaimed my life from the childhood traumas that haunted me was forgiveness. One small word, one LARGE hurdle.
You see, I didn’t want to forgive my stepfather who sexually and physically abused me.
I. DID. NOT. WANT. TO. FORGIVE.
But that damn rat bastard word, forgiveness, kept rearing its ugly head. In books I was reading for my healing, conversations with my counselor, in the news, on TV shows, in song lyrics. EVERYWHERE. Forgiveness was haunting me, stalking me. I had to deal with it.
I didn’t want to forgive because I felt that forgiveness was saying that what he did to me was okay. I thought that if I forgave him, I was giving him a free pass. A get out of jail free card.
“Yes, you were beyond horrific to me. You scarred my soul and took away my childhood. You abused me in every way you could think of. Ah, never mind.”
I didn’t understand what forgiveness was about.
So, I turned the tables and I began stalking forgiveness. I read books and articles about forgiveness. I listened to sermons and personal testimonies about forgiveness. I talked at length about my dreaded enemy, forgiveness, with my counselor and others I trusted. I devoured any information I could find on the subject.
I learned a lot. I learned that anger and bitterness really only hurt the person carrying it. My stepfather didn’t feel any effects of my anger. He was living far away and had no clue how I felt. Nor would he care if he did. I was the one suffering. Stress. Pain. Anxiety. Anger. Hatred. Not a lovely mix to carry around inside of me.
I learned that almost everyone struggles with forgiveness in their life. Most importantly, I learned that I needed to forgive – not for him, but for me. The pain, anger and bitterness was going to eat me from the inside out if I did not find a way to release it and let it go for good.
By forgiving him, it does not mean what he did was okay. It will never be okay. It will never be right. It will always be horrible. It will always be pure, unadulterated evil.
Forgiveness means I will no longer carry the hatred and burden for what he did.
Since I did not want any contact or relationship with my stepfather, I did not have to forgive him face-to-face. No letter, no phone call. Nothing. It was only important that I knew I had forgiven him. So I did. I have to admit, spitting out the words “I forgive my stepfather” was vile the first time I did it. Part of my body rebelled and I wanted to vomit after I said it. But I knew it was important. I had to say it several times before it didn’t make me feel physically ill.
Then, one day I said it and finally, I felt the shift. I had forgiven him.
Do I thank him? HELL NO. Do I want him in my life? HELL NO. Do I hold anger and bitterness toward him or wish him dead? Also, NO. Forgiveness set me free to feel absolutely nothing toward him. I have no investment at all in what his day-to-day life is, what he is doing, where he lives. Just like I don’t have any investment or feelings toward someone I pass at the DMV.
I simply don’t care. His hold over me; over my life, is over.
Forgiveness is a gift I gave myself.
I’m thankful that I did.
