Love in a Nightmare

Focus.

I don't have time or the ability these days to put eloquent words together for the joy of language. I've always loved language. My mother bestowed upon me a great love of reading (library trips are essential to children!!!!). And so as I grew I fell in love with words. Deep infatuated love. They have a feel, a taste, a sound. Words are a sense- a sense for the imagination. But that is difficult these days. This is difficult these days.

As my doctors continue to run tests to be sure my physical and mental limitations that progress are indeed caused by the years of head trauma from domestic abuse I have found I need great focus.

There is much to love yet. Much love to be given and received. And yet my abilities are so limited. My independence dissolved and dissipated as if overnight. Everything I had is falling between my fingertips because I cannot hold my fingers together. I shake.

My head tips back in silent screams, deep cries and aching.

Focus. I must know what is wrong for sure. I must continue to do what I can. I must remember love. Focus.

All the support in the world cannot chose focus for me. I am but alone in the choice to live with focus.

You are but alone in your choice to live with focus. Whether you are choosing love in a nightmare of health problems and difficulties or choosing life and leaving your abuser or simply choosing to make a difference with your life by helping someone....Focus is a choice- a brave choice.

If you are being hurt please know every time you get hurt there can be outcomes you can't foresee. You are not in control, you are not keeping the abuse contained. You are being hurt. If you need help or assistance or a safety plan please click here. 

much love, abigail

Grace and Gratitude

Grace and gratitude. That is what was written to me. If ever I've seen a daunting challenge there one lies. As of late I've been considering the people I know that have already passed. I'd considered how some seemed to live and then leave in grace while others didn't. Can I choose grace? Can I choose gratitude? What if I become unable to choose those things? What if I can't control.... Oh life is very humbling. 

Very. 

But as I look at and roll over these words: grace. gratitude. They aren't sharp words. But in kind they are neither soft nor comfortable. They are words that evoke a sense of work; work before the tragic happens. Layers of thought, observation and perspective. These can't be borrowed, no one can share or give these to you. They are the deep and mindful words I sure hope I can hold. 

We have just have today. Be Brave.

Dark Corner

Fear. Fear. Cowering and Pain. 

Still Relief.

Unsure I stepped. 

The hatred dismissed me and it was if it hadn't happened.

Relief slipped.

Fear marked.

Unsure I stayed.

 

If you are being hurt please get help. Do more than survive. Your life matters, your health matters and both are in danger if you are with someone who doesn't hold you with value. Do more than survive. You will have time for grateful later, you will be grateful you left. You will rely on others grace and then you will learn it for yourself. Your life matters. YOUR life matters. 

-abigail

Fragile Limits

We like to believe that we are limitless. We can do anything we set our minds to do. "The sky is the limit" and "Oh the places you'll go." For most of my life I've believed that I was more, that I could be more, do more and go "to infinity and beyond". I believed this with great passion. It is an emotional cognition that fuels campaigns, wars, politics, religions and every senior educational class of students on the planet. A force to be reckoned with. 
And then comes along the fragility of life. Life so fragile that the toughest fall, the strongest falter, huge empires crumble and every religion in the world has a Thomas, a doubter, who still hangs on to belief. Every breath you take is not chosen by you. Every day you are awarded is not taken or even "lived" by your choice. Life is. And life is fragile. 

For most of the portion of my life in which I was married I wore fragility in bruises, bumps and fear. Sadly the bumps were mostly on my head. A bump on the head is not very easily seen by others and if you live in colder climates it can most easily be hidden by a warm fuzzy hat. A warm fuzzy hat that cradles what aches, that covers what hurts and carries what grows fragile. I had no idea that successive concussions were something to worry about. In eight years the numbers of blows to the head I took are in the high hundreds, easily estimated by more than 3 a week that caused symptoms of mild concussions- often purposefully in the same place as the last hit. My walls bore the dents and my children tell tales of my head being slammed into the floors. 
And now, the fragility of life has found me. This is years later, three years later as of yesterday since the last and eleven years since the first. 

If you are being harmed in any way please find help. EVERY TIME YOU ARE HARMED MATTERS. Every time. It might just be mild, a blow to the head that makes you see stars and makes you dizzy. But that might just be your life. Please find help. 

abigail

Noteworthy

There is a gorgeous fog that touches down around my house most mornings. The morning light filters through it softly, the tall grasses in the fields get touched with moisture and the cows and horses we love as neighbors look as magical as their fairy-tale cousin the unicorn, soft and glowing in the misty fog. The fog leaves by 8:30 or 9, the sun heating it up and demanding the dewy softness of the morning leave for the warmer, more realistic day to begin. The horses keep eating, the cows continue mooing and I sigh every morning as that is my cue to let "real life" start again. And yet, I like the morning moments far more than I like those that follow. I wonder why those magical still quiet moments are vanquished and sent away from my days. I do understand it is hard to feel mystical and special when cleaning toilets, doing laundry or frowning over my financial spreadsheet. Joy lost in the "Hurry Up" moments, lost in the language of "STOP FIGHTING" calmly muttered to my squabbling angels, forgotten in my quandary of financial statements.... Somedays though I pause long enough in the foggy quiet soft spaces of morning to let it seep a little deeper in. I breathe in a little longer, smile a bit farther inside.... Mercies are new every morning. There is nothing like setting aside worries, busyness and efficiency for a little wonder, a little joy and a quiet break from what ails us. I'm pretty sure it's there our brave grows. 

Dark Corner
Guilt. My daily dose of guilt that day was that he picked up the house....cleaned some of it even. Hatred and then a blank stare that is what greeted me. I'd forgotten for a bit while I was at work that everything was my fault. It amazes me now that I let that move me, that I let my motivation be to make him happy. But that day I felt bad, I felt badly that he did "my work". He could see it on my face that afternoon- emotion from me, good or bad wasn't acceptable. Grabbing me by the hair he dragged me down the stairs, along the hall, my hands grasping for something, my knees running into every corner. I did not want to be pulled into our bedroom. Heart racing I pulled back, my hair ripping but he knew I didn't want to follow him. We both knew he was going to suffocate me, his hands already reaching for my neck. Later that evening, I stood in the bathroom- eyes bloodshot, face speckled with broken blood vessels, red scuff marks on my neck....I only looked for a moment. I was as ugly, broken and hurt as he had said I was. 

And yet the truth is that I wasn't ugly. Not ugly due to the bruises, not ugly any day. I have been as beautiful as the morning fog is everyday since I was born. We have the same creator after all. My insides are as fascinating as yours. My outsides can be an amazing mirror to my insides letting out life, beauty or being honest about the turmoil within. Just as I was made to be. That is where our beauty, our worth lies. We are as we were made to be. We don't belittle the lion at the zoo for being captive, we don't think him less because he was injured and rescued, we don't quit feeding and caring for him because he needs us to. Your worth is not dependent on whether you or not you need help. Your worth isn't dependent on whether or not someone else thinks you worthy. You are because you are here. Because you can enjoy the same quiet still foggy morning moments as I. 

You are noteworthy. This morning was noteworthy. Can't wait to see tomorrow.
abigail

If you are being hurt as always, I implore you to seek help. Emotional, physical, spiritual- any or all of those signify being hurt and needing help. You are worthy.

The Great Spill

Everyone knows what pain is, everyone hurts, everyone falls, everyone is spoken to harshly or unjustly. But not everyone knows what it is like to be physically harmed by another. It happens far too much, far too often and is disgusting but my point is not how few or how many know it. But rather that someone recently spoke of physical hurt. They had no personal knowledge or experience and that felt offensive. In that moment I was reminded of how I know, how I've had to know and how horrible it is. And I got angry. I don't tend to let anyone know when I get upset. I tend to be an internal processor, an over thinker, a muller. But this time I HAD to, I had to say something. I was so upset my words came out in such a jumbled mess- because something else- a deeper and much much more sensitive hurt came spilling out instead. I stood there irritated that I wasn't telling that person of my knowledge of pain, I didn't tell them much of anything I had intended to. I just opened my mouth and heard myself, heard myself exposed, real and hurting. Days later I am still mulling over what spilled out. Have you ever seen those practical joke cups? The ones that have a plastic puddle of coffee or soda under a glass? That is what this feels like. It is so thick, so solid of an issue that I'm sitting on top of my cup, looking down at the plastic puddle of fear, hurt and intensity of emotion. I cannot clean it up. No paper towel, no small words, no self medication of any kind is going to clean up this mess. Distraction therapy just won't work. And so, I sent a thank you out today. For the words that spilled this cup, the words that left me unable to even hear more- I'm thankful for them. I'm thankful for the patient and caring response my purely emotional response received. Thankful that my anger wasn't put down but merely heard. So..... I think I'm going to chose to be brave and maybe... do something about my spill. I'm not sure what it will be but I'm going to watch it until I know. I'm going to know there are answers, peace and a presence that cares. I have to choose this. My plastic cup with its plastic spill demands it. Be Brave, be kind, be what today requires. 

-abigail

And if you are being hurt please please get help. There are lots of kind people that can and will help you, so many resources- you can live. You can be safe. 

Solace

Solace is such an awkward word. It is sister to solitude and brother to peace. And it can be found. It is a way, a place and an inward outlook. Solace is quiet and loud, present and unattainable but always, always seems to be just there when things break. When things get hairy. When there is not a reason, a correct action or behavior or thing that you can possibly do- there will be solace. 
April 11th marked the date my ex husband had set for when I should die- or rather within this year. But regardless that date held a lot of chaotic emotions for me. Emotions that were surprising, unyielding and that I was truly unready for. Leading up to that date, which was also my birthday, my days were unsettled and frantic, my nights were distraught and fearful. I didn't sleep much. And then the week happened. My children and I all got sick, so very sick that there was a lot of distraction in the form of puking- so I did a lot of cleaning, mindless but careful cleaning. It was merciful, it was solace. My ever wonderful church kept close watch and was careful to remind me that they were there. My ever helpful neighbor was there to listen and never far. The day passed, the week passed and here we are. 
As this is Easter weekend I wonder how God felt when it was over. Had he found solace in the water? Solace in the midst of the trial? Solace just that it was over. Or maybe none of that, I don't know. Bad doesn't last forever. Eight years ended. These past few weeks were endured as will be this year. And we have a risen Savior. Be Brave my friends. 
abigail

Maria, Elsa and Cinderella

Have you ever felt free? Uninhibited, fully alive and ready to dance on a hilltop? I see Maria dancing on the top of the mountain, Elsa creating frozen icicles that are swirly and Cinderella dancing with her prince. Free. Ice castles, sparkles, green grass and unicorns- that is what the picture of freedom looks like. Delight that is astounding, that is beyond imaginable and intensely fulfilling or maybe just being safe and happy. It's what we want. I want to ride on a unicorn under a starry sky. The truth is though that freedom also means you can know, feel and touch pain. It means that everything you avoided, that you coped with, that you shut out and set aside because it was too much- it means that those things are free too. Free. Darkness, death, nightmares and hate. Freedom means that everything must be dealt with- because the unicorn ride only will last if you also look at the darkness. The dancing ends at midnight and what was is still real.  The bravest moment of my life is when I left the man that hurt me for far too long. But this learning to be free, this letting go, this being- this is being brave. I don't say this to pat myself on the back. I say this to acknowledge that I can't have happy until I'm free. I am in the darkest place I have ever been. I am looking and feeling what I couldn't and wouldn't and I am overwhelmed by its volume. Be Brave, on the unicorn ride or in the dark- you can.

Dark Corner

I couldn't breathe again. But this time I didn't want to fight. This time I wished he would finish it. Tortured, that is what I had become.

"Domestic Violence is the willful intimidation, physical assault, battery, sexual assault, and/or other abusive behavior perpetrated by an intimate partner against another. It is an epidemic affecting individuals in every community, regardless of age, economic status, race, religion, nationality or educational background. Violence against women is often accompanied by emotionally abusive and controlling behavior, and thus is part of a systematic pattern of dominance and control. Domestic violence results in physical injury, psychological trauma, and sometimes death. The consequences of domestic violence can cross generations and truly last a lifetime." National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

If you are being hurt get help. It is not easy. Recovery is not easy- more than anything I wouldn't sugar coat that. But- even my worst and darkest day is better faced while being loved rather than hated and hurt. You can be free and you can heal.

If you are safe and have a unicorn- share your joy. Help those that don't have and haven't had the safety and care you have. Alone is the most common feeling of those abused and yet one in four women in the US knows abuse. That means they aren't alone in the situation and they don't have to be alone because you can care. Be Brave. abigail

How do I come up with a title that says that my heart is sore, tired and doesn't want to carry this? There isn't a title that can capture how heavy and dead this is, and that this admission is so very difficult?

Resentment. I carry it. 

Dark Corner

I had always believed that God loved me, that he doted on me- my name meant Father's delight after all. He told me God hated me. That God despised me so much I was going to be killed. There isn't a darker place than that. Not only was I alone, not only was I not loved- God didn't love me. I fought the battle of truth for 3 years in my head and then I gave up. I remember that day. I think that is why I'm so sure I know God is real- because there wasn't a darker moment. Alone is an understatement. Hurt is an understatement. An ache that cried out for God and got no answer- that was my darkest moment. 

If you are being hurt please get help. Please know that there are so many people out there that will help you. Please know that sometimes we just have to ask and speak. Domestic violence continues because of silence. Silence and lies. That means we can fight domestic violence. It means there is hope. We can speak.  We can speak truth. 

My post today is where I am. I had a long post about something rather.... but it was just- not where I am at. I think where I am is at the very center of what keeps people from healing. And so, though I would much rather post my lighter, funnier and happier post, this is real. Be Brave. Be real and honest and messy and who you are. I hope you don't lose the battle I lost. I hope you don't carry resentment. I hope you know that to which you are called and are unshakeable. But even if you've lost, that was then. Thankfully hope never dies and every day is new. Be Brave. I hope you are safe. -abigail

Tomorrow is a Mystery

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a present that is why we call it a gift. - Bil Keane

My history haunts me, it lives in today, it lives in tomorrow. Today I went to see a very wise woman who told me to let go. I laughed or rather kind of snorted (in a graceful feminine way) at the absurd and nonsensical suggestion. Let go. Let go of what? Let go of my problems, of my hurt, of my overwhelming situation? Well that is just ridiculous. They are fast and deep, long and here, aging and rooted, heart breaking and perpetually before me. But then... I'm the one that is a mess. I'm the one that went seeking help. You know what I have wanted? I've wanted to pull these pieces, the pieces of who I was together and glue them on. It would feel so much better. It would lessen that feeling of chaos, it would be rewarding, it would make me feel strong and prove I could do this... Except none of that is really true, none of that would happen. Pulling the pieces and gluing them on does not make things better. Like a vase that has been put together with hot glue- it shows little gaps, it will be evident that someone worked really hard to recreate what had been. And I don't actually want that. I've been quiet here lately because I couldn't glue anymore pieces on. Not that my work or efforts to heal is futile- its just not been very effective. Lately that ineffective work that I've done has been as clear as glass. As my children mourn and grieve and act out their pain I have been thrown back into a world of hurt. I get to see me. I have seen the gaps, seen the holes, seen the form I was trying to recreate. From that place of watching my kids hurt, of wrestling with my memories and own hurts all the pieces I've hot glued on have almost all fallen off. I weep for my kids, I cry for myself, I tear at my hair at the injustice of this pain and I hide- because a teary face is messy. I'm messy. My kids and I are getting amazing help. We are the safest, most cared for and supported that I have ever known. And here- we are a mess... But I'm going to let go. I'm going to let go of this attempt to get my life back, of my attempts at being everything for five small people, and of my attempts to do this myself. I am exhausted  If the present is a gift I want to learn to be in it. If letting go is the key to being healed I want to be in that too. Be warned, I don't know what will happen here, I don't know what turns my life will take and I don't know what will happen with this lack of holding my broken pieces. I guess tomorrow is a mystery. Be Brave.

I don't know how the Dark Corner stories fit in with letting go. I know that letting go does not mean ignoring or forgetting the past. But I am unsure of the direction this place will have yet. So for today they are set aside. If you need to be reminded of how bad and ugly domestic violence is read my previous posts. Or just take my word for it- domestic violence is terrifying, ugly, demeaning and.... life shattering. (If you haven't noticed I tend to almost overuse that word. But I can't find a better description than shattered. It captures somehow to me the jagged brokenness of watching someone else destroy you, of holding the glass pieces of yourself and watching those pieces too hurt you.... Shattering.)

Get help. If you are being hurt get help. If you aren't being hurt but struggle with whatever it is you struggle with- get help. We are all in life together, kinda makes us a human team. Look up, look around- I'm very sure help will come. abigail

Hulk Talk

My boys have spent the last two days running around the house yelling "HULK SMASH" in the cutest little boy sort of way. I love boys. They are so squirmy, quietly almost secretly giggly (don't ever tell them I said that!) and tough. I love that my boys still come cry to me. That they still know they need comfort and care. I love that they aren't afraid of that. But you know what? My kids get angry sometimes and that as I'm sure you are guessing concerns me. How do we teach anger? "HULK SMASH"? We don't teach how to be angry. I didn't mean to give you the answer so very quickly (sorry!) but we do not teach how to be angry. Anger is depicted as shouting or hitting or a silent lack of response. We, as a whole are afraid of anger. But anger isn't bad- we all feel angry sometimes. Good grief, God feels angry sometimes. I get angry at my own journey and life sometimes and that is ok. I get angry at the one that caused so much hurt in my life, in my children's life. So I'm back to teaching the value of words. How words can express the strength of what we feel, how words can let others know how we feel and the enormity of that. Words can help us find our frustrations and address them. Words can remind us to breathe. Words can speak to the hidden fears that light up that anger. Life doesn't have to be "HULK SMASH" nor were we meant to be a people that stand quietly as horrible things occur. There isn't room for rage in our world- we don't need another pair of Hulk hands. I've been overwhelmed this week at the prevalence of violence. The reports on domestic violence have been popping up everywhere- almost everyday I've either been sent another report or seen another article citing statistics that turn my stomach. Or you can just turn on the local news. So what if it was you? What if it was your children being hurt or hurting someone else? What is your response then? The world waits until it requires a response- but we shouldn't. Be Brave. Don't wait until you see uncontrolled anger, don't wait until you or your children have to deal with someone that is angry. Address it now. Talk about violence, talk about anger. Talk about the Hulk. Talk about how to be angry. Be Brave the world needs you.

Dark Corner
I heard him coming. His steps were loud, he had shoes on.... bike shoes on. My eyes were wide, I was just making dinner. I was just making dinner. I was just... I was... As he came close I was already shaking my head and cowering he kicked me. I was on the floor as he pulled me by my hair to the other room, well almost. Around the corner he pulled me up and shoved me against the wall. I cried. Both of his hands were in my hair. His bike shoes kicking at my legs. It hurt. I could feel the anger and heat coming from him. He let me go only to backhand me into the wall again. My glasses flew off- just a drop of blood fell to the ground. I bent over, almost in a fetal position as he kicked me. He yelled how he couldn't even bike without my complaining ruining it. My inner voice screamed HOW????? How was anything I was doing causing this? And he continued kicking me. I began to scramble away. His foot met my throat. It hurt very badly, like the seeing stars and into tomorrow kind of pain. I heard him return downstairs. My body ached, I wanted to make myself feel better. Needed to look at the cut by my eye. The need to attend to the hurt was overwhelming. But I turned around to four little faces watching me. Four little faces without any expression that returned to watching their cartoon. And I froze. 

The world needs you. Whether you are in a domestic violence situation or not, please know the world needs you. I'm not sure for what task, for what purpose or what your great and epic journey is. But the world needs you. Be Brave.
If you are being harmed, you have a life to lead. It is not one to waste in the clutches of someone with an uncontrolled anger problem. Get help. Be Brave! Be Brave, it will probably be the bravest thing you do but you can. Be careful and brave. abigail

A Beautiful Photograph

Last summer I had my picture taken. The photographer that I used encouraged me to have my hair done, my makeup done and to be as rested and ready as possible. My response was to roll my eyes and think that there was no way. I've never been a big fan of makeup and had never had it done..... It made me embarrassed and left weird feelings to even consider it. I had never and would never be fashionable. But I found that inside me- there lurked a girl, a girl that had always wanted to be a princess. A girl that had spent far too long being named ugly and doing nothing to be anything else. So, I decided to let that weird hesitation out- to embrace what I didn't know. I was after all getting my picture made, had been so sure that I needed to, that I wanted to, that it was important.... So I went to a salon the photographer suggested. My words to the makeup artist- "Make it look like I am not wearing makeup!!!!!" My words to the hair stylist- "Make it look really natural, maybe just blow-dry it and let it be!!!" Both listened and then did far more than I thought I wanted. The most surprising part of all of that was, I looked amazing AND I saw myself. The photographer knew I wanted my photos to be ME. And now I see a beautiful photograph, and it is me. I see what was created to be lovely and to love. It was one step in this journey to embrace me- me unknown. It is so scary to know oneself sometimes; to live and love and be with ourselves. It requires that we acknowledge our pains, our failures, our loves, our hair and our goofy noses (the weirdest body part we have!!!!). My name is Abigail. My body is the home to my soul. Sometimes what is farthest away and most distant in our journey is really right there with us. Be Brave- be brave with yourself!

Dark Corner
I know what it is like to be hurt. I know what it is like to be scared. I know what it is to be scared for my life. But the following is part of how I disengaged. It wasn't just the violence, it wasn't just the threats or the controlled lack of sleep. I lost sight of how wonderfully I'd been made, I lost sight of the love that had been put into myself because he swore I was a mistake, a problem that would be blotted out by God. 
You are so ugly, he said. Look at how fat you are, he said. Why should I love you, since you are so ugly- look at yourself, he said. 
The sinking and disappearance of myself occurred slowly and yet it happened. I closed my eyes. I quit smiling. I was married. I loved him. I heaped praise on him hoping he would feel better about himself- that maybe that was the reason why he thought such bad things about me. But I remained ugly. I remained the most horrible woman on the earth, one that would be punished and reprimanded. One that would be killed for her ugliness and harmful ways. And in that I, Abigail, became too far away from myself to see myself.

Lies from a loved one are like tar. They stick to us and trap us. Lies spoken or inferred by someone we are close to hurt. And that hurt can make us forget or discard truth. My niece and her friends are always saying online "Truth is...." and they finish their statements with things like "I like you"  or "you are beautiful" or "I like being your friend." I love the boldness and strength of their statements. The pictures I have of me are an artful expression of myself, my body expressing my soul. And truth is... I like that. I like seeing myself being honest, knowing myself and being with myself. If you are in a situation in which you are hurt or being harmed remember truth. Take a deep breath and know truth or just try to see yourself- who you really are. It is to that person you will want to be most kind to, who your significant other should want to be most kind to. If you are being harmed please get help. You were made to love and be loved. Be Brave. Be brave and know truth today!
Sincerely, Abigail

Hello Hurt

I'm lying on my back, I see the sky above me but that isn't what I am actually seeing. I feel the grass beneath me, poking at me but that isn't what I'm feeling. I hear the quiet movement of the wind, whispering and doing princess twirls around me but that is not what I hear. I see no one. I feel the empty and yet somehow heavy heart, alone. I hear just my breathing, just myself. I want to scratch at my chest until I tear it open. I want to force my hands into my flesh to find my heart. I want to touch where I am bleeding. I want to make it all stop. The alone. The hurt inside. The weighted tasks and responsibilities. 
Now I know that I am not alone in this life experience with hurts- I know far too many women that are survivors of far too many things. I know that I am not actually alone. I have children, a loving extended family, a church that is the Samaritan herself and friends that surprise me in sincerity and kindness.  
But the emotions that lurk and tease me behind all my good days... they are still there. This must be true for others. I fell apart the other day. I could not contain what mocks me. And on that day, along with a whole lot of other days I wept. Knowing there are others who have pain does little to help. But knowing that there will always be pain here on earth and that now I am familiar and getting comfy with it- that thought actually helps. I cry real easy now with those that are hurting. I know an empathy for deep sorrow I never knew. I don't have an end to my thought here- but I think a hurt heart that does not pretend to not hurt, ache and struggle is the bravest and most beautiful of hearts. I so often want to just be strong, be "together" and just worry about my hair, my kids or how my jeans are too small. But I cannot. I cannot be so strong because I have been hurt. Its as if saying "hello hurt, I see you" is where our brave might be. Be Brave- in your strength or your hurts, either will do. Be Brave. 

Dark Corner
Why is your leg purple, Abby? he asked. I looked away as he pressed his hand onto my discolored thigh. Why, Abby? his voice growing darker. I looked back at him. He wanted me to tell him it was because I was bad. So I did. What did you do, Abby? he asked, snarled, growled- I don't know how to put words to the voice he kept for me. I could not answer his question. The answer was that I, had fallen asleep during the movie we were watching. I had resisted when he ordered me to bed after he woke me. Thus that bruise and a few others. I never knew how to answer him though. But as his fingers were starting to make my bruise throb I explained to him that I didn't submit, that I was arrogant; the "right" answer. He moved his hand as he laughed and told me I must like getting hurt. I was quick to respond, as always with this statement, that I do not like getting hurt. But his eyes were small and his voice mean when he answered that I did. I made no comment.

Every 9 seconds in the US a woman is assaulted or beaten. Those women do not like getting hurt. Regardless of all the reasons or excuses that women continue to be hurt- help them. Hear them. Support them. Please. If you are being hurt, look for help. Ask for help. You have a life to live, a story to tell and people to love. Be Brave. Be Brave. Be Brave. 
With plenty of tears, smiles and hope, 
abigail

Love and Grocery Stores

Hello,  my name is Abigail. I am so honored that you have visited with me today- or rather that you are letting me visit with you. This is Brave- it is my hope of freedom for women stuck in situations of domestic violence, it is my belief that all people need to be reminded to be brave and my story- as I have been in both places. If you are a woman stuck then please accept this as a hug. You are okay and you can also be brave. 


I have a very simple story to share today. It begins on a trip to the grocery store. I am a mother of five and I only had four of my children with me on this trip- truly a luxury! But my four were acting slightly rambunctious in the van... as in there was no small amount of squealing, giggling, yelling, hollering, teasing and poking going on in my rather small mini van.... My level of usable patience was decreasing by the second. I admonished, I breathed deeply, I reminded myself that nap time would come, I prayed a little prayer and I still felt the bristle of irritation with my angels. Like the grumpy old troll (yes that is a Dora reference) I had small eyes and a serious lack of smile. Three of the wriggling, squirming, jumpy children piled out of the car continuing this childish behavior as they waited for me to unbuckle the youngest. She too had not a still or peaceful inch about her- just squirmy! Squirmy! (Can you hear me say "ARGH!!!") My youngest wanted to jump from the van, I breathed deeply and let her hold onto my finger as she took a flying leap... right onto my naked toes. My silent grumbling became vocalized. My toes hurt! And, and, and, and, and...... My two year old squirmy daughter bent over and kissed my toes. She looked up at me and flashed me a giant smile while saying, "All better!" While I was grumbling they never stopped loving me. I hadn't stopped loving them. And she kissed my toes- right in the parking lot, right next to my van. I scooped all the kids into a big hug and we as a big squirmy group went shopping. This is love, a Brave, true and simple love. I'm not sure if I need to be willing to kiss someone's toes or just remember to not lose sight of the love I have with my family... Maybe both! Be Brave today.

Dark Corner
Another grocery store tale:
Four children, pregnant with another and I walked to the grocery store and then back home. Four hours later I was ready to fall apart. There had been no big loving moments- we were walking because I was in trouble. We'd figured out how to pull the gallon of milk and our other small items in the wagon with two of the kids- they had been done with walking long before we were even close. It was dark before we were close. I was stuck between two emotions- I had done what he had made me do, I felt a weird distorted pride that I'd done it. But at the same time I, on the brink of melting into my tears, wondered why I had to do that. Why didn't he go get the milk? Why was he "teaching" me lessons? But those questions only brought the tears closer to my eyes- and that was not allowed. That would be dealt with in a way I was trying to avoid. I breathed deep, I cleared myself of all of those emotions and removed myself from any care- or tried to. He hurt me that night anyway- I couldn't hide my dislike.

Love is amazing. What I described in the Dark Corner is not love. Love has actions, love has care. Love has forgiveness and humanity's imperfections covered; reality enjoyed and a longing to share life. If you live in a situation of love be so very thankful. I am astounded with the stories from women that are in abusive relationships- it is an evil that is rampant in our society, in our schools, in our churches, in our - it happens everywhere! I cannot tell you how many times I was hurt outside of Costco on Dimond Blvd, or REI or Carrs or Hilltop.... I cannot tell you how many times I was thrown out of the car on O'Malley Road. Violence and verbal abuse does not always happen behind closed doors but it takes mindful watchful people to see it, to be brave and find a way to help. It also takes a woman who has lost hope to wake up enough to accept it. Be Brave. Be the one that helps. Be the one that wakes up. Be Brave! 

The US National Hotline for Domestic Violence Victims. 

First a whisper

All we need is love...All we need is love! So it's the week that outside of Christmas ranks the most depressing week for people in America. Yay for Valentine's Day! I've been caught a bit lately in the circular thinking of "poor me". And thus Valentine's Day felt like it would be one more poor me moment. But, when I came home from work this morning I had a bit of an epiphany. I think it will change not only my view of Valentine's Day but maybe me as well. As I checked on my still sleeping children I realized LOVE my children, in a sky shaking, whole heart effort kind of way. I also love my babysitter- in a truly grateful for a trustworthy sitter kind of way. I love my friends- they are amazing people and holy cow have they been good to me the last couple of years. And my mom loves me and my aunts and uncles and sisters and.... Are you grinning yet? I am dearly loved. Oooo.... I got a huge smile on my face and tears in my eyes just typing that. I think I'm going to do that again. I am dearly loved. I get to love and be loved. No matter what I struggle with, no matter where I've been or where I'm headed. No matter what I have- I am so very rich, so very blessed so very happy with that. I can say it like a secret to myself, I can shout it out as I hug my kids, I can sing it as I'm driving- I am dearly loved. I get to love others and they love me back. That doesn't mean I'm not lonely, that doesn't mean that I am relived of all sadness and stresses and most certainly doesn't mean everyone loves me or that I love everyone- but... We can enjoy love. I can be purposeful about loving my kids- almost selfish in it doing it because I love it. I felt a bit silly sending out Valentine's Day cards but realized I was going to send them because I wanted to- it brought me loving feelings to send them! What a blessing to be free to express our love for each other, to tell each other we care. I am loved by my God and He put all these people around me and my kids, so we would know the joy of loving them and the delight of being loved- DEARLY LOVED! You should try it. Whisper it first. And then say it for real like a fact- cause it is a fact, cause you can say it, cause you can know it. Let your heart feel how loved you are because there are some that can't. I am dearly loved. I bet your heart felt that too! Be Brave and enjoy your Valentine's Day!

Dark Corner
I wanted to be pretty but he called me ugly. I wanted to buy my children something, anything, for the joy of providing but he called me wasteful. I wanted to have friends but he called me unfaithful. I wanted to cook food that would be really tasty but he said he would buy the food. I wanted to watch a movie but he said to do my chores. I wanted to sleep but he said I had to cook. I wanted to walk but he said to run. I wanted to run but he said I was selfish. I wanted to be alone but he said I should love him. I wanted to disagree but he said I need to learn respect. I wanted to do something good but he said I should be humble. I wanted to be seen but all he saw was stupid. I wanted to be loved but all he said was why. 

Domestic violence is not always physical. Lies and manipulation within a relationship can be more damaging to a person's well being than the physical harm done. We crave belonging because we were meant to belong to God, to be cherished and loved by the people around us and to love them back. Domestic violence in any form crushes and destroys the people involved. If this is you, Be Brave! Get help. There is hope, there is love and life for you. Whether you are being physically harmed or emotionally you most likely need help. Talk to someone, and keep talking until find the help you need or until you can take steps to make it better- you are worth it. You are dearly loved. The darkness you walk in will not last forever. Be Brave, and strong, and wise and as wonderful as you are. You have my deepest sympathies and hopeful prayers.  -abigail

Moving Stones

I heard recently someone use these words, "Have no fear for God is with you." It took a lot for me to stay in my seat. Warrior Woman emerged from the dark corners of Abigail's heart.... "Go ahead- tell me to be fearless. Tell me to be strong.  Challenge me to a fear competition. I wonder who will win." I know that the majority of that is my pride, that I don't like to be "wrong" and that those sentiments feel like judgment. To a former abused wife words that speak to bravery are like salt in a wound- they are judgement itself. Have you ever been strangled until you passed out? Have you ever been beaten until you bled internally? Have..... and down the road of saddled judgement we go. Big sigh as I put away my own defensive weapons. (I should someday paint a picture of myself all ready for war- its such an intense emotion filled with fight!) People that know fear know fear. Fear is almost a being, a presence. Once fear is known its stays by the power of familiarity and in a circular fashion only a lie can create- by fear. But hold on here for a minute, "Have no fear for God is with you." Now I am telling you that. It doesn't have any more or less truth coming from me. That isn't the point. I am saying those words because they are true. 

In fear and lies we make a prison, the walls are high with lies, the walls are thick with evidence supporting the lies and they get higher and higher all the time. It would have been nearly impossible for me to be fearless while being beaten. I could not have listened to him describe what he would do with my body after he killed me and not been afraid- you did not hear the evil in his voice, scary is an understatement. I had an enormous stone prison of lies to live in and to keep the fear in. The day I ended my relationship with him I told one of his lies. It was the easiest to tell- He. hit. me. And I didn't even speak at first- all I did was nod my head when asked if he had. But regardless that truth moved ONE, just ONE stone. But it let the person I gave the stone to see in. They spoke truth and I gave them more stones. And then another friend spoke truth and I gave away more stones. The prison is coming down. After almost two years I look at my feet and I still see stones. I cannot even see the end of these stones, but that is ok. I am intimately aware that the stone prison I was in was a lie. And that I can fearlessly take the stones away. I am still familiar with fear but it needs no lies. I starve it of my attention and it lessens. I'm just moving stones. And obviously I've moved a stone that was fearful of judgement this week! <big smile> Be Brave friends, there is much to live for!

Dark Corner
When speaking with me his voice turned. Gone was the smile that he showed everyone else. Just his dark small mean voice was left. He spoke of the garden, of draining my body and cutting it up. He spoke of how he would do it all during the night or two nights. No one would notice- he had often had me do the gardening at night with a headlamp. I was so tired. I couldn't wrap my head around his words. Why did he have this plan? Why would God really tell him to kill me? But his explanation included that- I was evil. I was teaching the kids to be evil and they would be better off without me. The hurt surrounding the word kids coming from his mouth was as a knife to my heart. I was so so tired. The fear had bred an exhaustion that I cannot describe. I did care about my life, I did care about my children. I was just ... so so tired.

I want domestic violence to be spoken. I want all the lies that keep women in these prisons to be shown as lies. Too many women are living in fear propped up by lies. If you are being hurt, get help, accept help, find help! Your life is important and you can live. If you can be a truth speaker do that! Speak what you know, speak what you see. With kindness and a careful understanding that you may be "judging" the women that so very much so need your help. Move stones. Abigail

Treasures and My Friend

As of late I've been toying and rolling around with the idea of a life lived privately. It is attractive to me and yet still ambiguous. How do I hold deep inside me that which is now beautiful and free and good- for just me? I question if I've forgotten how to hold moments and truths inside. I know  bad was stamped, marked and remains like scars. But does the good? The small place where Abigail resides within me, in that place have I forgotten how to have for myself? In the same ways that the evil I have seen would haunt me from those hidden places wouldn't good arise if I hid it as well? I'm turning this idea over still as I write. In now living with the option to have no lies, no secrets I question my quickness to have no secrets. Might I find a place for my own safe and beautiful treasures? A private life and yet a life lived for a purpose-  I wasn't at first sure that both of these could exist.  I write this blog that spills more than my guts sometimes and yet I know I've begun already to craft a place for myself. My conclusion is that the loving care of oneself will look different for each person. That the private people don't have a better viewpoint than I- but I will borrow some of that truth to foster this private, gentle and beautiful place with cherished pieces of myself, with truth, with moments. As if to decorate my insides, to hang art and colors and tapestries on the walls. Maybe it is here that my granola side will shine, that my love of diamonds and pastel pink puffy dresses will adorn my heart. I MIGHT just hang a turkish lamp at the entrance to my heart- someday it might greet someone that I'll let see it or maybe it will just remind me that I belong to no one. But that is my Brave secret....

Dark Corner
You don't need anyone but me- he said. We again were having a "conversation" regarding my want of a friend. My secret prayer remained for a friend. Two years before I left him this prayer was answered much to his chagrin. Allowed only if it was for running purposes- I loved, loved feeling less alone. He made sure I knew she wasn't really my friend, that she would never be my friend, that I was just convenient to run with.... I ignored most of these comments although the words still found their twisty dirty ways inside me. Running was enforced so I ran. I grew to love it- I felt free if I forgot what would happen when I got home, I felt free if I wasn't hurting because of bruising on my legs. I felt free if I ignored the feigned proud demeanor I put on so as to not give hint to what was my life. Too much at stake for that, too much at stake for truth- since his truth wasn't truth. I wore pants to hide the bruises, I wore long sleeves in the summer when I was really hot. I envied and despised and loved her company. I started to believe his lies since I found it so hard to have company and yet not be real. It hurt. His words hurt. His lies changed my behaviors and I knew that- I could see that. Was I crazy? What was happening to me? Why couldn't I find my own voice, my own thoughts, my own self? I wondered these things constantly, from inside, from my subservient self that hung my head. 

Abuse is damaging. All abuse is damaging be it physical, emotional or verbal. Be Brave. You have worth, you have a life that can be lived. 
If you are being hurt or abused in any way get help! It is not enough to simply wish, to think that others will see the clues you try to leave or to think you can just get by. You will need support and it is there- please just ask! There are counselors, attorneys, survivors and friends that wait for you. You can do this, be Brave. 
- Abby

Sincerely, Surviving with Tears

My TV has decided not to play sound from my DVD player. I have checked every setting, I have reset the TV and reprogramed the DVD player. I took the DVD player back and was given a new one... I have been working on this for over a week and I hate, wait did you catch that word?, HATE, really truly hate messing with electronics. I've felt like a small child stomping my feet, balling up my fists and scrunching up my face into contortions that I'm sure will leave unsightly wrinkles... WHY WON'T IT JUST WORK? (This is a plea for help as well, if you can fix my tv please contact me asap!!!!) This however feels like the saga, yes I am far from having a story, of my life. Why? Won't? Anything? Work? And while I probably did overdue it on the question marks- my question is beyond frustrating. No area of my life seems untouched by chaos- I mean, well quite possibly that is just my little kids. But there are days where all fails. Where I cannot complete one load of laundry, where I don't get dinner made and we eat my "fail" meal of hotdogs, where I am simply in a state of frustration about everything. Even writing this I can feel the build up of stress in my shoulders, the familiar grimace returning to my face (boo- all you wrinkles!!!) and the way it shortens my breaths. Sweet Jesus, why? The spiral quickly becomes why me, why this, why why why why? And my soul feels the pull of the negativity and despair. My logical side kicks in and I evaluate: have I eaten, have I had at least 3 hours of sleep, have I had chocolate today, have I smiled recently, AM I BREATHING? See- we were created to survive. I will survive my tv troubles. I will survive my messy, noisy, chaos inducing children. I know this because I've survived far far far worse. I will breathe and then, as now, step back, handle the yelling children or washing machine that is making the grinding noise. My blessed TV is quiet.... We all were created to be Brave, to survive - not just traumatic circumstances but our lives. 

Dark Corner
The year my youngest son turned two was by far the worst winter I can remember. Far too many nights I was cold. Far too many times the kids were in danger of the cold and anger. Well, .............. Ah. I was going to share a story with you about how he threw a magnetic shapes ball at me from just two feet away, how it broke open into all the pieces as it hit my cheek bone, how it hurt but more that it wounded me so deeply as I was holding a kid in my arms. I didn't move for fear it would hit them. And when he yelled at me I cowered, how he kicked and.... I was going to tell all of that and a bit more- in a very readable way. But the actual memory has flooded my heart and I'm stuck. Stuck in place with my memory, with my hurt out in the open air.  To be hurt in front of your children is the very worst. I cannot find a way to explain that shame and fear. Every "bad mother" feeling in the world rushes in as you cower on the floor and you can't grasp how they can watch, how he could not care about the feelings and power that violence carries with it. Being hurt physically by someone else is shattering, being hurt and shattered in front of your children is devastating. The harm is far worse than what the body sustains. Sometimes the open air to a hurtful memory stings, sometimes it lets it heal and sometimes it just brings me tears. I'm not sure what this is today but I'll let it sit. Maybe I will finish this story another time.

Whether you have tears for today, a celebration or a challenge- there is always room to be Brave. Say words of truth, cuddle and kiss those you love, chose what is best to your best ability and survive! 
If you are being hurt- oh please get help! Hear my story or saga and know you too can live. You too can get help! One of the hardest things is admitting you need help- but if you are being hurt you do need help. Let someone in, let someone help you to plan, to prepare and be safe! 
Sincerely, though today with tears, abby

Sunsets, sleep and being normal!

I have been searching for the words to explain what I have seen this week. I write and then rewrite and then rewrite because I can't find them. Over and over they have slipped away or felt so much less than what I've seen. This happens when I take a picture of a spectacular sunset, one that has taken my breath away with the vast expanse and explosion of color, and then I see the picture and the let down of expectations is a weight. I almost never take pictures of sunsets as I cannot capture what I see, I cannot make the copy as good as what is before me. My words this week have felt like that. And so I'm going to borrow some words! Words we all know, so you can sing them if you'd like. 
"I see trees of green, red roses too, I see them bloom, for me and you, And I think to myself, What a wonderful world. I see skies of blue, and clouds of white. The bright blessed day. The dark sacred night. And I think to myself, What a wonderful world.  The colors of the rainbow, So pretty in the sky. Are also on the faces, Of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, Saying, "How do you do?" They are really saying ,"I love you." I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They'll learn much more, than I'll ever know. And I think to myself, What a wonderful world." Bob Thiele and George David Weiss. Today, be Brave! Our world is so wonderful, so rich and full. No matter what we have or don't have we all share the amazing potential for love, the sunsets and the skies. In this world made for us, be Brave! 

Dark Corner
My head hurt, mostly from the lack of sleep I'd had the night before- the quiet pain I generally carried of a husband who gained a lot of control through keeping me from sleeping. But the new dent in the wall at the bottom of the stairs had also occurred that evening- a dent that later I would grow to despise as I had to see it every time I came downstairs- a constant reminder of what he seemed to enjoy. It was really cold. There was cushions from a porch swing and a tarp and an old blanket in the shed- I made a bed. At three am I woke up, I remember this really clearly as I was cold and wondering if the doors were still locked. I would have to get up for work in a few hours.... I turned over on my makeshift bed- my knees touching the wood of the shed floor. I sighed, letting out all my air. No, I wouldn't move. My head ached, I didn't want to go inside. I wanted... well I wanted nothing. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to not be angry and to not be so sure of my sin. I wanted him to not think everyone in the world was evil except himself. I wanted him to quit lying. But more than anything I wanted to quit hurting. I was so tired of hurting.

Understanding Domestic Violence
In the kindest, softest way another person this week spoke the oh-so-familiar words, "Wow, but you are so normal." Domestic violence does not just cater to drug users, alcoholics or the poor. My ex husband preferred to do all his damage sober, clear headed and purposefully. To become an abused it is really simple. You have to believe a lie from someone that seeks control. The lie is that one person causes the other person to hurt them. Abusers first and foremost convince their significant others that what they do is "because" of the other person. The truth is that you do not chose another person's actions for them. You might read that again, The truth is that you do not chose another person's actions for them. You therefore are not responsible for or at fault for harm another person causes.
If you are being hurt be strong. Be BRAVE. And get help! This world is wonderful. Be Brave and you will see there really are bright blessed days and dark sacred nights. 
- Abby

Lions and Bears Oh My!

This seems to be the outpour of myself looking at a bigger picture. My past is disturbing but it appears that our world is at a climax.... Its as if we are close to an epiphany after which the world will end. I am so very irritated with the people that seems to sit in complacency- and yes that is myself and yes, we all know the world is ending. Yes, we all know that people are suffering from the effects of wars, famine and violence- oh and of course over-eating and not taking care of our bodies.... Yes, we all know that the lions are going to die out- just like polar bears and all the sea life.... But Jesus is coming, the world wasn't created to last forever, of course its bound to happen. But were we supposed to ruin it? Are we going to get to live with the consequences of this planet that is hurting before He comes back? A friend of mine has been posting some very thought provoking articles lately, my favorite being this. After I read this I simply wanted to shake someone. WHAT DO I DO THEN? But that is the eternal question. What do we do? I know how to end domestic violence- awareness and training for people on how to be brave, moral and to have boundaries. This would end it. Women (and men and children) would or could stand up and say NO. And they wouldn't be silent and it would end. But if our planet's distress increases its possible that none of that will matter. If the lions all die and there are no plants left and I am surrounded by a desert with no food then.... Well Bravery will matter but my survival skills might matter even more. 
My children and I held a discussion last night. What do we do if our world becomes a desert and there is no food or water. My eight year old son said, "Mom, we will save enough water now- do you want us to get in the car?" Insinuating that we go to the store to buy water to keep in our garage.... My six year old daughter said, "No, lets move to the Norway mountains and keep Lena's sheep." Hmmmm.... but Norway and the Arctic cannot support all the people that will attempt to get there... My five year old son said, "I'm a ninja." to which my eight year old added, "Oh, teach us to shoot guns!!!" (I'm leaving out my youngest daughters because their comments were scattered regarding dessert not deserts and princess castles!) But is that the answer? Am I too going to become a doomsday prep-er? How do I protect what is mine- because I'm sorry in the big scheme of things my children would have very short lives if it was up to just myself- I actually, (oh the Alaskan in me is dying of shame) don't know how to start a fire without a lighter and while I'm pretty good with my .38 I do not want to kill game in Houston with it .... (that is a joke- no big game in Houston...) And so I'm left with this. Be Brave, I'm sure what that means today, not sure what that will mean tomorrow. But I know for certain my children and I will face the future with eyes open and for God's sake if there is a way to further our future we sure will. Living a long Brave life is actually something I want for my kids.

Dark Corner
Violence happens. Stories of violence are full and long with elicit details of death and harm to people. I remember one night being strangled. It was particularly scary and humiliating and ...well it was terrifying as I thought that time might be the last time. His accusation was that I was complaining in my heart  while... well we were in bed. My children were conceived not in love but in misery, hurt and pain. This is the first time I have put these words outside of where they have hidden, and I won't probably ever have need to say them again. I put them out for a reason today though: there are too many that know of pain like this- but our pain, though great is but a drop in the bucket. Humanity cries with the atrocities that we commit against ourselves. As horrible as I know were the actions against myself it is certainly not the worst humanity has inflicted upon another person.

Two more thoughts. One: WHAT DO I DO THEN? I cannot save the world. I can only be Brave and share courage. If you are being hurt make it stop by saying no. Do that by getting out any way you can. There is no wrong way to leave an abuser, the best is to put them behind bars, but any way you can preserve your life and leave them is good. 
Two: WHAT DO I DO THEN? I cannot save the world. I cannot replant forests or provide new ice for the polar bears. What difference can I make in this world that is already dying and from the looks of things going to get pretty ugly before my kids are all out of high school? Well, I answered the first question- what are your thoughts on the second?

Tumbled Fears

The hidden fears that tumble out are like perfectly polished stones. They are the fears that we tumble inside ourselves until they are almost pretty, we've spent so much time swirling them around within us that we cannot see them any other way. And then we get real and plop, plop, dump and thump.... crumble. I am so alone. What am I going to do? Where should I go? They are going to hurt me. No one is going to accept me. I will not make it. I cannot do this job. My children are eating me alive and soon there will be nothing left. I am not happy. What if they know? This string of fears are ones that tumble from time to time out of my mouth. I am always shocked at their presence. I am brave after all. Heehee. We hide our fears from ourselves in the same way we apply makeup to our most gorgeous faces everyday. Its just to make us prettier, right? But our fears come tumbling out. Well, mine do anyways. I am so perfectly bad at keeping secrets anymore, everything seems to tumble out. And I just have to laugh at myself sometimes. My dedication to not having secrets is one I encourage but I do so wish I wouldn't sound so crazy when my fears or worries or over-anylyzing comes out. Thankfully there are people around me that don't seem to mind it. Now, they may laugh at me when I'm not in the room but overall, I think most people appreciate honesty. We all identify with weakness- because we all know it. We share the greatest feelings of connections when we are weak, in need, open and very real. Kind of odd, since we go through so much effort to hide our pain, fears, sadness, anger and the emotions that are all so unwelcome. Maybe its time to just feel my feelings and then get on with this big Brave life! (after all, a quick cry doesn't take much time and there is so much to do!) 

Dark Corner
I was fearful of the man I had chosen to love, that I assumed would love me. I had found out early on that resistance only brought an enormous amount of pain along with days of being poked and reminded of my lack of submission and so I adopted, as you would a child, the action of cowering. Except I was the child that I curled myself around. I closed myself off around myself, closed my eyes when objects or arms, legs, feet and hands came flying at me, I thought this was protecting myself. The fetal position is not one I had to learn in a yoga class but one that I instinctually found myself in so often. A look from him and I would shut down. My brain literally ceasing to think thoughts- it was simply all about how to keep breathing. Fear caused a cease of movement in me. Unable to fathom what was happening, why it was happening and who was causing it. My beloved hated me enough to harm me. That alone was my opening knowledge that led to my shut down, my refusal to comprehend or acknowledge what was happening. Frozen in a place that to my ears was the most shameful, sad and despised location. Like a mime in a box actually- I couldn't get out. Though literally I most likely could have most days- running away was always an option but not one I was able to see. I couldn't comprehend how to hide, how I would have to be alone and hope for someone to help me. Fear and the deepest of hurt created a standstill of enormous magnitude, eight years in length. 

When I tumble fears I damage my insides. I have greater scars from the fear and hurts I held inside myself than I do from what physically happened to me. We are not built to tumble stones. A friend of mine put this quote up on Facebook today. It made me remember what fear looks like. It made me remember that I looked in his face one day in court and had no fear, instead I didn't look away. For why should I? "You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, '...I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
You can do this. Whatever it is that causes you to be fearful, you can be Brave. If you are being hurt, be Brave and smart. Make a plan. Get help. You were never meant to live in fear. Today be Brave.

Abigail