Resilience – Restoring

Content Warning: childhood sexual abuse, rape, incest, drugging. 

I am the survivor of childhood sexual abuse, starting roughly around the age of 1.5 and going to sometime before my 5th birthday. I discovered physical proof backing up my memories a few days ago. That shook me in ways I didn’t anticipate. I have learned to honor and respect the things my younger selves have finally felt safe to give me. But to have physical proof makes things a lot more concrete than just trusting your own mind memories and body memories.

It’s sometimes odd how fate decides to bring things about. I have multiple fellow survivors as close friends now. We are all in varying places in our journeys, we are all on different planes of the kind of healing required of these wounds. But do you know what brings us together even more than anything else? The fact that we hold space for each other’s stories and can validate that none of us are crazy for what we feel or remember.

I have shifted back and forth between an utterly overwhelming deep sadness at feeling my littlest self’s smallness and her massive disassociation at such a young age and anger that knows no bounds at the fucking bastard who did this to me. I can also trace back the spirit beings who continued to surround me every single step of the way. I see how they protected me from my soul being so shattered and splintered that I no long could hold on to myself. Just barely though.

I suppose there’s a question of why I am not cynical against those beings for not keeping my dad from sexually abusing me. I am not even sure how to react to that. While I firmly believe everything that has happened in my life has had a purpose, I don’t believe any deity should have come in and put a stop to the abuse. I had to go through that to become who I am today. But not because of what was done to me, but because of how my soul has fought continually to remove the filth put on me and restore it’s wholeness.

I am who I am today because I kept pushing on, I kept saying I’m not done yet. I am pushing to keep healing and fighting against the waves that constantly threaten to drown me. I’m fighting to heal and end this cycle because of those around me who do not have their voice. I am fighting to reclaim my power and my voice so I can speak up for them.

I have been sitting with the memories that have come back this week. I won’t be publicly sharing them as they are too graphic and too dark. They are the things I will share with fellow survivors to let them know they are not alone in their own darkness. I will be using my powers as a witch to make sure that I am removing and returning all of the negative energy and soul sucking yuck threefold.

I am not angry at my father for what he did to me. I am angry that my youngest self was treated so horrifically by my mother. My father? He is already reaping the consequences of what he did to me and my other siblings. So is my mother. I am more sad at the amount of disassociating I had to do to merely survive.

I’m working hard to rebuild and reclaim. Even though I know it is not possible to regain the childhood I never got to have, it is possible for me to make sure my own children get the fullest childhood to the best of my ability.

She’d say “You are so much stronger than you even think you are
Let your heart, let your heart lead the way”
That’s what she’d say

She’d Say – Andy Grammar feat. Lady Black Mambazo

Acknowledge Us

Content Warning: Incest, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Child Rape, Being Drugged

I am strong.

I am powerful.

I was drugged so I could be controlled.

I was wounded.

I was broken.

I was shattered beyond any repair.

Or so I thought.

I recently was given a book written by a fellow childhood sexual abuse survivor. It’s almost funny how magnetizing those stories are and how so many of us find each other. Almost funny. ‘Cuz it’s really not, but it goes to show how powerful our stories are and how they draw us together. Our stories pull and shift so that we can find each other and know that, despite our abusers’ efforts, we are not alone.

The past month has been deeply shifting and transforming for me. A lot of layers were ripped back so old toxic wounds could be cleaned and then healed whole. A lot of these wounds have had to do with my mother. But two weeks ago in particular, I turned to my partner and told him that I realized I was feeling exactly how I did when my memories returned two years ago. Then I forgot about it because well life.

However, as I started reading the book my sister had given me, that uneasiness began to return. I made it 4 chapters into the book and had to put it down and walk away. I couldn’t read it. She was talking about how much she remembered and how she’s able to trace the abuse all the way through her childhood up to adulthood.

I am realizing as I write this that this is how I felt just before my memories returned 2 years ago. It was this uneasy sense of my story not being enough. Combined with a sense of something seriously missing but not being able to pin down what. Since some point last week, I have been carrying this uneasiness that something was shifting. Along with a deep desire to find someone who has a similar story to mine. It is really difficult to find another story like mine – one where the father was the rapist and the mother was the abuser.

As things were really sitting heavy with me yesterday, I kept trying to pull back to gain perspective. But as I did that, something started to fall into place. As I drove home from dropping my oldest off at school, I started tearing up. I have long thought that there was a good chance I was sexually abused at least once before being raped by my dad. Something happened before I could actually speak – the very least, speak in full sentences. This would line up with some of the things that didn’t get explained through the memories I have already had come back.

I have done a lot of work with reintegrating my younger self back into my soul, I even did a soul retrieval and brought her home. So when I got home from dropping my oldest off at school yesterday, I knew something was about to come through. I had lunch with a friend and thoroughly enjoyed chatting with them, but I felt the walls started to shatter and knew it was only a matter a time before it all came flooding out.

Yesterday afternoon, pieces started coming together. It was like I was standing there and calling those missing pieces to return to me. And they were coming back. Pieces were lining up, pictures were forming, and I could see the timeline starting to come back together.

I was sexually abused multiple times between the ages of 2ish to 5ish.

I believe the abuse started sometime before or during me being potty trained.

I couldn’t have said no. I didn’t know how to say no. It was not my fault.

The memories and feelings and sensations I’ve had return explain all of the gaps in my memories that I still didn’t have answers for. I still have missing places in my memories, but I am convinced those are because my brain couldn’t handle it anymore.

It explains my mother’s actions towards me even more.

I have been sitting with my youngest self and holding her and comforting her. My younger self who was brought home after my soul retrieval has been sitting with us too. We are both whispering and loving our youngest self and giving her the safe space she needs to “tell” us what happened.

I am sitting here watching my 2.5 year old happily play and build big legos all by himself. He unquestioningly trusts me to protect him and can be vulnerable around me and my partner. I watch my 5 year old feel safe enough to have a melt down because school was hard and he needs to just feel safe and held. Watching them have so much trust in us is a punch to gut knowing I once had that for my parents. Not only did neither of my parents hold that with respect and gentleness, they used and abused me and took advantage of my unquestioning trust in them.

I am sitting here and being gentle with myself today. Holding space and believing everything my youngest self gives for me to see. I am more present and grounded than I even have been with having memories coming back. My body is feeling relief of having the rest of the pieces.

And So It Is.

Mothers Who Can’t Love

Content Warning: sexual abuse, rape, incest, emotional abuse

Three and a half years ago, I published a book about my childhood, deconstruction from Christianity, and how I had begun transitioning into the mystic. Barely a year later, I was hit with a massive wrecking ball – memories of having been raped as a child by my own father returned.

I know I’ve had another book sitting in me and waiting to be written. I am two years from those memories returning, and I know it is now time. For the past week I have been starting to slowly re-piece together my story in book form. By doing so, I have realized just how much I wrote about having been sexually abused but not consciously being aware of the truth. I used to hold the believe that my mother was just as much of a victim as I was against my father’s abuse. When my memories returned, an entire story line burst open. A story of how my mother never loved me. How she bent over backwards to make sure I hated my life; hated myself. A story of how she used every opportunity to take her jealousy and disgust of me out on me.

I had all the pieces of what she did to me, but I couldn’t see the whole picture. I was missing the thing that tied it all together; my childhood rape. I thought she was just lashing out at me because of how my dad treated her. The trickle down effect, ya know?

Through my mother’s treatment of me and the things she’s said to me, I thought I was just a despicable child. I knew there was something wrong with me. I knew I was disgusting and I was terrified if she actually could see into my mind. Besides, she constantly reinforced the idea that I was a disgrace to her.

As the missing memories began to fill in the gaps in the story of my mother’s treatment of me, I felt like I had been sucker punched. But also deeply validated. I firmly believe that she knew that my dad had raped me. But instead of standing by me and fiercely defending and protecting me, she took her disgust and anger at what he had done out on me.

I have no memories of my mother being affectionate to me. I have no memories of receiving hugs from her or feeling safe and warm or feeling protected. It was me against the world and my own house wasn’t safe.

And yet, I somehow am managing to not repeat the same cycles with my children. They are teaching me about giving and receiving affection just like I am teaching them that it’s okay to say no and to protect their boundaries.

Acknowledging and holding space for the damage my mother’s abuse caused is difficult. I’m doing it anyway, but I am holding space for my younger self’s heartbreak. It’s taken over 2 decades for me to get to a place where I’m okay with my body. I don’t feel like it’s the disgusting thing my mother always said it was. I love the shape of my curves and the fact that my body has created two new lives. I cry though for the pain my younger self experienced daily, and the self-doubt and belief that she was the cause of all of the family’s problems. My heart wrenches as the echoes of that pain still touch me to this day.

I wrote several thousands pages in the new book yesterday. I woke up yesterday morning at 4:40am with the last words of a dream ringing through my head. My mother was in the dream, but I was separated from her the entire dream. There was this weird kidnapping scene, I was with a sister, but not one of my sisters in this life time. We managed to escape and made it to where my mother was supposed to be. We were met by a personal assistant kind of person who kept going on and on about a bunch of weird details. I finally stopped her and asked her where my mother was. She just looked at me and said “oh, she’s dead.” To which I then woke up.

This is the not the first dream I’ve had of my mother dying or being at death’s door. The feelings that ripped through my body as I lay there in bed trying to process was of tearful relief. I believe the dream was pushing me forward to finish these last layers that exist in my mother wound. I felt like I was walking around with a bleeding and gaping wound on my back yesterday. I did a Lion’s Gate tarot spread yesterday, got some amazing cards and direction, but felt prompted to pull a 9th card.

I pulled the 9 of wands – the card of the final challenge, battle. The card of picking yourself back up, wounded and broken, and still continuing to fight to victory. It’s a fire card too and I certainly felt that burning fire ripping through me, burning away the pain and leaving the ashes behind for something to start anew.

So I’m standing tall, pulling myself up and facing these wounds and the deep dark pain. I’m going to do my younger self proud and give her the respect and space she always deserved but never got.

Asking For The Return of Moon Blood

Potential Trigger warnings - Menstrual blood, childhood sexual abuse, trauma. 

Two years ago the memories of what had been done to me as a child of the age of 4 came back. It was a few of the most excruciating and clearing months I have ever had. I felt like I had finally gotten all of the pieces of the puzzle that is my life, all while being almost destroyed by layers of shame, guilt, and pain from what had been done to me.

When I received my first cycle at the age of 11, my very very first thought at seeing blood in my underwear was “not again.”

Sit with that.

An 11 year old girl, the oldest and first child in her family to get a moon cycle, and that’s what she first thought.

“Not again.”

From that moment on, the sight and pain of my cycle arriving always brought terror and horrific nausea and pain. There was nothing “good” about it. Nothing pure, nothing healthy, or releasing.

Seeing that moon blood when we were trying for our first, and seeing it for 20+ months in a row was heartbreaking and depressing.

I used to daydream about never bleeding every again and despite how extremely difficult pregnancy was on my body, both times I carried a child were the best since I didn’t bleed for a blissful 9ish months.

I chose an elective surgical procedure a year ago this month which included my OBGYN burning away the entire lining of my uterus. So I wouldn’t bleed. Because of that childhood trauma, and then being made fun of from the moment my ex-mother found out that I had gotten my first period, removing that physical blood was 100% the right decision.

But.

Things have changed.

Two months after having the endometrial ablation done, I attended an incredible gathering that brought about my {re}initiation into the Pagan. The entire gathering was surrounded by challenging and breaking down the taboos about bleeding and moon blood and creating a beautiful healing perspective on what that blood means. I spent almost the entire time there crying because it was the first time I had ever heard of moon blood being a GOOD thing, a beautiful thing, a releasing thing.

See, the womb holding body is cyclical. As we move through a cycle, we start with a shedding of everything that we drew within ourselves and releasing of any energies that need to leave. Through returning that blood to Gaia, we are completing a cycle of life and death and rebirth. Just as the moon goes through her cycles in the sky, our bodies mimic that rhythm. To honor and acknowledge the power of our moon blood is to return to the ways of old when wisdom flowed freely and our ancestors knew the secrets of releasing and shedding.

I’ve been holding uneasy space for memories of my childhood sexual abuse over the past 3 weeks, and this week in particular is when the memories started fully breaking through 2 years ago. And for the first time I’m asking for that return of my blood so I can fully and deeply release the last memories and pain from my past. I feel the need to really press in to this. My desire is to create a sigil to draw over my womb while I go through a ritual of asking the Dark Goddess for my moon blood’s return. I will post more when I’m deeper in to this asking.

I believe in the power of the Divine Feminine and restoring wholeness. I am remaining open to whatever this return will look like.