IMPERFECT Lady

Shattered In My Mind.

Yesterday the image of a darkened closet where we are talking and sharing but no one knows your name....and the outside where we see each other but rarely share our truths...stayed with me.

The juxtaposition of never being with your truth and your face at the same time, let alone be with it with someone else...and ESPECIALLY with those you love.

We somehow believe that our truths will not be embraced.

And, we have learned this in our home environment growing up.  Especially where one parent was abusing and the other looking away.  We are left to pretend in the light of day, we are okay and nothing is wrong.  And we keep our truth hidden, silent and feel its shame.

What I have been able to re-experience, is this phenomena.

Except, I refuse to go back into the closet or to hide my face or not say my name.

The filming for the documentary has solidified the wrongness of anonymous...for it mirrors abuse and perpetrates its shame.

What is so odd is that those whose lives are lived half in the closet are not hidden at all.  For their behaviors and actions are clearly speaking out shame.

We only think we can hide our truths, but our truths keep showing...in how we present ourselves, what we will share or not share, what we are comfortable with and what we are not...who we support and who we steer away from. What we call kind and love and what we think it is.

There was no part of my life that abuse didn't touch. No part that wasn't spared.  Even in my quilts, my abuse was showing....

The religion my mother chose supported her 'forgive and forget' life style, where you don't have to deal with abuse; but bless it away and get on with living.

What I know, is that the truth isn't hidden, it isn't in the closet away from reality.  There is no place the truth can hide.  It is always showing. We for many reasons, refuse to see it and embrace it and live with its contents.

Someone asked me last night as I was recounting my experience with being filmed and the talk of the church came in and or family and it was asked, if they believe it happened?

I do believe they do believe IT happened.

That Ray Huhta is a pedophile. But, what is so curious is how they continued to live like he had not shown this truth. Like IT didn't happen.  

I did start to respond, "how so many didn't believe it..." But, what I know, is that they did not respond to it...for reasons unknown or known.

To fully accept it, means your world will flip completely upside down.  Few chose this route. 

What makes me appear mental, is I allowed my life to flip.  I flipped out.  I could no longer be separated from my truth...I was dying and I didn't even know it. Dying as the girl who would hide her feelings and her emotions...cramming them in this very tight space; away from reality.

Perhaps the closet exploded...

The closet doors were shattered in my mind.

 

When he speaks his truth.

The internet has given us all opportunities we would not otherwise have, to reconnect and to connect...and I am part of groups within the Facebook community.  Some are for Art, some for books and one group is for those of us who have left the church...any branch of the cult like religion we were raised in...and we can offer our experiences. 

This group is connected with a blog Extoots, whose owner remains anonymous...and so are most of the respondents who comment on the postings....they go by aliases; fake names in order to speak their truth.  I always signed my name, my real name and was fully exposed.

Today, I left the Facebook group...for on the post about my episode with Call Me Mental, the article of my father, 'exposed' the name of the reporter...a church member or ex-member Brad Salmen...and someone connected him with his fake name.  

Like someone had opened the door and a face was exposed, the post was then deleted...discussion ensued and blah blah blah.  

I had never liked talking to faceless people or to be told the truth, but without a face attached.  It just never felt right to me.  Although the argument is...that they will slowly show their face, when they are ready...and that it is somehow theraputic to be able to speak EVEN if you can't show your face.

This is where we part ways.

I do not believe that whispering in the dark, in a closet is helpful.

It almost affirms that our past is a dark dirty secret.

Never to see the light of day, and that our truth is something we should never attach to our faces.

It was odd, how when the truth slipped in attached to a face, It was quickly deleted.

That was the wakeup call I needed to exit this group.  Like how dare you turn the light on expose who is who and who is saying what on the Extoots blog!  I have no desire to go darker...and nameless and faceless and truthless.

That is what the abusers love, for their secrets (victims) to cower in the dark. To keep their secrets secret, to never dare to be fully exposed.  

The victim feels it is their truth that is ugly to reveal, when it is actually the truth behind the abusers. 

I just can't see there being any good reason not to reveal your name...and your truth.  I do know that there are instances of domestic violence where you have to be careful and go through proper channels for your own safety....but on the views of sexual abuse as a child, a nowaday adult will be set free from that closet of shame, once he says his name...when he speaks his truth.

 

 

Life As Usual.

I believe the biggest factor that waters the stigma of abuse IS the response to our telling.  It isn't the crime itself, the effects on the physical body OR even the betrayal of love or trust.  It is the absence of connection when we need it most.

What messes with our mental wellness Is the lack of responses.

Our minds can't hold the way in which people act.

We internalize their distance.

I know that some of the mental illnesses are in our head; the voices of negativity. But, in the case of being sexually abused by a family member, the most damaging voices are the silent ones in real life. 

In reality it is the absence of our friends and family...lending us their voices to help us.  Instead we get the opposite.

No parties.  No cards. No food delivered.  We are treated to the empty landscape of deafening disapproval.

While I have a support team, many new friends that have happened upon my journey, and reconnected with old friends. A child who finds themselves in the footsteps of my childhood....feels this chilly terrain.

And, internalizes it.

Brings it in.

There are no celebrations or hereo's parades...It is not openly discussed.  Nor are there stragedies in keeping away from evil...instead, life goes on remarkably the same.

How?

How is it that we don't have a better response to the abused?

There is no way I am being treated different, kinder or unkinder.  I am just an example of one of the abused, and I am verbalizing the treatment I have recieved.  

To all who feel justified in their silences, I want you to know, you are not part of the solution but a huge part of the problem.

Not only are you not delivering cards or cheers of support, but you are actually and figuratively continuing on where the abuser left off....lowering their sense of self.

Reducing them again, to someone who IS not seen.

The abuser does not see our needs or what is good for us.

He is selfishly acting out his desires.

I see the silent majority doing the same.

For personal reasons, fears, anxieties etc....they keep silent and restrained.

If I could only articulate the emptiness and cold space we are left in by you all, I would feel successful.  I lived in the empty space you all left me in.  I also grew and reclaimed my Self without you.

And, in hindsight...and with experience.  I can see how you all could not be there for me, for you all were in your own dark space just trying to survive.

I don't blame you...for the quote comes to mind. "Forgive Them, They Know, NOT what they do."

However, I am speaking for the ones on this side of the silence.

I am speaking out.

I am telling you how it feels.

While the family continues to gather, while the church pews continue to be filled, while life goes on as usual, your usual is denying.

Being denied, being the one unheard or believed...watching your actions of sameness IS what messes with our minds.

What we expected or believed is that we would matter.

We would matter enough for the whole system to lurch to a halt.

Instead, our brokenness, means nothing at all.

Or, it means we are mental for we can't get back to life as usual.

 

Before I broke my silence.

Today I rode the mail route with bits of sadness tagging along...and parts of wonder.

What I have been fighting against is the sentiment that I am unkind.

I am a wild and mental lady, angry and cold-hearted, judgemental and self centered...one who has tossed aside her family for her own personal gain.  Gain of what, I am not sure of yet.  This image of me I have felt for years coming at me...in concentrated waves of stony silence...rebuffs.  

If I could only articulate the feelings of being asaulted by indifference while standing up wounded...you would see the contrasts.  

What have I done to deserve this title of unkindness and cruel silences?

In the video you see my brother's wounded heart.  His emotions are the feelings of the child who is unseen and unheard. It is also the scene of being heard and being seen.  He has an attentive audience.

My mind cannot wrap itself around the fact that we have to educate and teach how to respond to a wounded human being.

And yet, we awkwardly will deal with wounded humans who hurt others by treating them as normal, kind and nice.

Somehow there is something way way off, when the abused is treated like the abuser and the abuser like the abused.

Can you see it?

My greatest sadness today is to feel the wounded child being seen as unkind.  Today, I felt and fully embraced my kindness.  Can you look in my brother's face and call him unkind?

It is an act of kindness to speak your truth.

It is an act of kindness to break the silence.

It is an act of kindness to feel emotions.

It is an act of kindness to put up barriers against evil.

It is an act of kindness to show the church that their forgiveness doesn't heal the wounded child.  

To me, and call me mental, it would be unkind to do the opposite of what I have been trying to do.  

My brother and I were both wounded in our childhoods, we are showing our wounds in public. And some are not willing to see them...or God forbid comment on them.

I have had wonderful comments of courage, bravery, wise, etc...all for being real.

Being real is unkind?

Really???

How?

Or, how is it judgmental to point out the silence?  Isn't that what the church has done...deflected the wrongdoing on to the abused.  How am I more wrong for seeing the silence than those who are silent.

I know I am supposed to find a reasonable reason as to why some turn away...in order to keep them kind.  I can't.

Here is what I do know. When I was unaware of my own abuse, I was unaware of others wounds. I was unaware of my hurt, I was hurtful in my blindness.

My favorite detective, Tom Rosemurgy asked me, "What could we have done to get your attention when you were unaware of your abuse?"  I still don't have the answers, but I am working towards solutions.  I am doing my best to shake, rattle and roll the ironclad beliefs that held me in the dark.  

I just don't feel that by me NOT addressing my feelings about the silence would be helpful.  The truth being put out there time and time again is the only thing I feel that can poke holes in denial.

Maybe I am only judgmental and unkind to those in denial.

And, if you want to remain in the dark, you don't want to see the wounded.

For once you see the wounded, you see too much.

Here is what I know for sure.  I saw my wounded self.  I saw the little girl whose love, and trust had been ripped to shredds.  Her broken heart.  (see my brother's piece) and I fell in love with her.

My heart opened wide for this girl. The one who had been abused by her father.  By her father.  I held her in my heart.

So each time I am unseen and unheard or turned away from or shrugged off with indifference, it is denial denying me.

It would.

The question is why?

In the past, I thought it was me. I was not kind enough, cute enough, articulate enough, my words were not soft enough or more christian sounding.  Now, I know it isn't me.

There simply isn't nothing this wounded adult child can do to make you see.

The video clip does not show unkindness or cruelty of the wounded...at least not the wounded who are aware.  It is those who are not aware of their wounds who wound.

Kindness flowed in me...unchallenged by your indifference.  It didn't matter today.

My brother's wounded emotions are the visual picture of kindness...a child with a broken heart isn't unkind.

A lady who is trying to draw attention to the beauty of the wounded...isn't unkind.

I know I have been unkind. But it was before I broke my silence.  

 

I am posting it again! Call Me Mental...

 

 

 

Look again at yourself looking at me.

First I want to thank and give great appreciation for those who dare stand by me. Who have listened and heard my words.  The ones who have understood my journey and stayed with the content of my pain and not rushed to the outer limits discussing the reasons for my parent's inability to parent.  But, for those who have stayed by me and attended my words, my pain and my art.

The ones who have followed me along...weak and confused, hurt and angry and watched and encouraged my growing.

Folks who have walked with me through my darkest times...are now able to "Like" my episodes on Facebook.  I know that this will seem childlike, but sadly the Like button is so telling of the content of who you are.

It is the tap on the shoulder, the eye contact and encouragement...especially when it is so deeply personal.  

The 'unliked' folks are teaching me great things.

I am learning how it is to speak up and not be heard.  Or to have the conversation be re-directed to a space three steps removed from the actual wound.  AND, how it feels to be a child trying to get someone to respond, to stand up with you.

It is not the silence of your enemies that affect you, but the silences of 'friends'.

I feel that my voice is that of a child, a victim who is daring to break the silence and I am just shocked at how non-impacting it is.  How life appears to go on as usual.

In the same group discussion, the annoymous shield was broken, and it felt like someone had inadvertantly opened the closet door.

The full thrust and heart of the intentions behind the "Call Me Mental" project IS to break the stigma.  

Stigma is the closet.

Stigma is the silence.

Stigma is not so much the silence of those who watch me come out of the closet BUT those who are in the closet wanting to remain hidden.

I am fascinated by this all.

How not only do I no longer fit back in the closet, but there are folks who are 'out' but that I feel are just pretending and who really would be more comfortable with me being silent.

I am not even sure I can articulate the experience of breaking the silence and hearing silence...

What this feels like to have an artful presentation done and for the discussion NOT to be on the subject of the episode?  It is like if they were to watch a film on quilting but talk about the person who typed up the pattern.

Honestly, I am blown away.  By those who have dared stand with me....and the silence after I broke the silence, again.

And, how some feel we are further along and that we will not repear the history of my family....Really?  

I can only visualize the trauma of being traumatized and to have it all ignored. For life to quickly return to normal, for the good folks to overlook and avoid any contact with the wounded child.  For the subject to be shut down...or never even begun.

Being set aside untouched.

It is these feelings of not being touched, of them holding back and away that make us feel that something is wrong with us.  That we are now untouchable and for sure unspeakable.

We become ostracized and the things being discussed are not even close to the heart of the matter...abuse of a child.

We are too yucky to touch...and talk to...or "like".

I can't make me touchable. 

I can't make me kind.

By them staying away from me, they are showing me who they want to be near.

I know, to the depth of my soul, this behavior for whatever reason IS the source of our stigma.

We feel what you all can't do...and internalize it.

I refuse to feel ashamed, because you are ashamed to be with my wounds.

You too, will not define me.  Just as I refused to carry the shame of my father, I also refuse to carry the shame of those who can't touch me.

I know the walk now of the untouchables. 

I know it isn't our 'sin' to carry.

I am giving this back to you all.

It isn't the silence that I have broke, but that I am asking you to look again at yourself looking at me.

 

 

 

 

My Episode.

 

Well Here it is!  Thanks David Cowardin and Lola Visuals, and NDC of Duluth and Carolyn Phelps for her kind words!  It has been nothing but a great experience!  Thank each of you for being you!

May this project go on and inspire, challenge and touch folks in ways we can't even imagine! 

You can read Carolyn's response to my episode and her thoughts at http://callmemental.com/episode-2-beth-jukuri/

I feel that this is a full circle moment...where I am being affirmed and supported and tag teamed with folks who have the same interest as mine...removing the stigma of being abused and its affect of mental illness, replacing it with Self Love.

I am proud to be part of "Call Me Mental"!

 

What will it cost you?

The "Afterword to the Original Edition" at the end of "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware; society's betrayal of the child, Alice Miller writes.

"Before sending the manuscript of this book to the publisher, I gave it to four collegues to read who had shared in the development of my ideas through numerous discussions. The first one said that after our many conversations the material was no longer new to him and he was able to confirm my hypothesis on the basis of his practice. This reaction pleased me very much, since it indicated there was little likelihood that mine would be a lone voice among psychoanalysts. Another analyst said the scales had fallen from her eyes when she read my case presentations.  She was relived to be able to cast aside the ballast from her training that she had never fully accepted and give more credence than before to her own findings and perceptions.  The third colleague reacted the same way many parents did to my previous books, i.e., with guilt feelings.  She said if my arguments were correct, that would mean she had made grave errors; she recalled patients who, as she now thought, had been desperately attempting to articulate their traumas, whereas she had always felt obligated to regard what they said as an expression of their childhood fantasies and desires.  I could only tell my colleague that I had felt this way for a long time, too, and without that experience I would not have been able to write this book. Whether someone reacts to my views with sorrow and guilt feelings, or even with total denial, depends on his or her own history."

"My fouth colleague said she felt as though blinders had been removed from her eyes, but at the same time, now that she was seeing new connections, she was also feeling disloyal to her teachers, to whom she was grateful for a great deal and who had insisted that the drive theory was the central factor in analysis. Her observation gave me food for thought."

"Both sorrow and a conflict of loyalties will undoubtedly be required of us if we are to recognize and come to terms with "poisonous pedogagy's"influence on our childhood and specifically on our training as analysts. But if we succeed in working through our sorrow, we shall gain the freedom to judge for ourselves and with this the possibility and the right to make use of our own eyes and ears and to take our own perceptions seriously."

"The direction in which I have moved in writing this book as well as countless unfortunate childhoods I have read about in letters from my readers caused me to question how the truth could have remained hidden from me, too, for such a long time and what role the drive theory played in concealing it. It troubled me that so few of my colleagues were able to accompany me on my journey, and in trying to find the societal reasons for this, I came upon the drive theory, the Fourth Commandment, and the traditional methods of child-rearing, a combination of factors that explained the collective denial of childhood trauma. But this was my personal journey. My colleague's reactions showed me that the ways in which one can respond to new experiences can vary greatly; what led to a radical change of direction in my attempt to understand neurosis may elicit different responses in others.  How we integrate new insights into our existing fund of knowledge depends on our character, our age, and our previous experiences.  The discoveries I have made bear my own personal stamp and therefore cannot be prescribed for others.  but the hypotheses I have adopted cane be examined, again from a personal perspective, and can serve as a basis for new findings.  The purpose of this book is not to win support for my conclusions, for that would only encourage the uncritical stance I object to; rather, it is my hope that the findings I have presented here will challenge the readers to go on to make their own discoveries.  Alice Miller

I love how she is willing to accept and to understand that most often it isn't the validity of her work that is in question, but rather the folks who read and listen to her.

She sees herself, her childhood, her profession and her clients....and the circles we all live in and how it is we became who we are, but how then to end the cycle or patterns.  

What a brilliant mind and daring soul...to step out and openly state where society has failed the child.

I totally agree with her wholeheartedly. What she writes about is my experience.

If the Alice Miller's books don't resonate, it is perhaps due to the learning you have been taught and/or your awareness of your childhood and its damage. 

Alice Miller has the key to course correct the affects of abuse.

While many hesitate to blame the parents and religion, and the therapies, Alice clearly isn't afraid to follow her conclusions. 

You have to first see where the root cause of our mental illness began and find a therapist who is willing to bring you there.  If they have not seen their own lives clearly, they will not see yours. 

Alice has given me so many affirmations and helped me to understand not only me, but the way society and the helping community, religion and family all play a part in you moving forward or keeping you in the dysfunction.

While we are moving alone, we are bumping up against many folks whose fear of their own lives, will need you to stay down.

Many will blame you for daring to up-end the social, religious and family traditions...and very few will look at the long held beliefs that they each carry.

It isn't that I am speaking out so outlandishly, but rather that I am dancing upon their  sacred beliefs; the pillars they need to be who they are.

My blog, my Art and my journey is a visual what Alice Miller writes about...

My life is a clear example of what she found and also what she knows will right the individual that got flipped upside down in childhood.

Her books are not for those who want to remain in the dark and in dysfunctional families.  They are for those of us who dare to be the change...to be aware.

Mostly, what I feel is that most are not wanting to see...it isn't that I haven't written it clearly, but rather they want what they have now.  They are not willing to give it up.

No matter its cost on the next generation and themselves...they are perfect living in the land of "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware."

Thou shall not see me...not because I am brightly out here, but because of its cost in your lives to do so.

What will it cost you?

 

Big Screen!

Last night I was able to have an early viewing of my episode that David Cowardin and Lola Visuals created.  I was a bit nervous...and was pondering why.

What I know, is that we (the outspoken) are not viewed as being kind...being compassionate or anywhere near loving.  We are out to 'hurt' someone.

I spoke and shared to the people who are without a voice.  I wasn't speaking to the ones who want me silent and who see me as bad.

I am speaking to encourage others to speak. Sharing in a hopeful manner.  Opening up the space to stand like I stand.

I feel that between David and I, we accomplished what I had envisioned.  That stepping away from abuse and the recovery from its affects...will free you to be in love, peace and joy. To be a you that is no longer tied to the strings of shame.

This is the stigma we are trying to shake lose, that it is UNKIND to speak out...for it makes you mean.

I didn't see me being unkind.

I didn't see me angry.

I didn't see me mean.

I did see my life in a 8 minute review...from abuse to recovery. The joys of following your soul.  Of finding the comfort of nature for it never changes.  A tree is a tree and it doesnt' change.  

I saw me totally in love with myself and the awe that my art showed me the way.

I saw me showing me so others can see themselves.

Thanks David.  Your gentle soul touched mine and together we can share and touch others.  It is for the shameful.  It is for those who can't stand.  It is giving you courage to stand in your life...embrace who you are no matter where you find yourself. 

I am proud of my episode, my journey, my art and My Lady....and me!  We are on the Big Screen!

 

Backs My Soul

For the past many years I have given up praying or any thoughts of prayer.  I know this will seem shocking to many, but I have come to learn that the only prayer that has any substance is "I want what God wants." Period.  The end.

The Universe has a ruling sequence that is the cause and affect...and I have seen the choreographing of lessons and life experiences that were all used to set me free to be me.  There is no part of my journey you could take out and call useless.

It was all perfectly perfect for me.

There were moments that I was blown away by what IT was asking of me, the sheer madness it seemed...only to have revealed to me my strength, courage and success  at accepting what is.

Bowing to the flow of free will...and seeing the consequences of my choices.

I truly am left prayer less.  What can I possibly pray for that God doesn't already want?

I love that I can stand behind the mystery and magic, like a huge organically moving Art piece and know that our free will is painting our lives.  We act and IT responds.

It never fails.  

The Universe has delivered to me the exact and perfect answer often before I ask the question. 

Deepak Chopra says, to put your intention out there and then let it go.  

It is the letting go, removing your needs, desires and wishes. To not try and control that which you have no control over.

What I have learned, when each of my limited desires were not fulfilled, is that I was given what I needed in order to grow and heal.  I had to walk into places and out of relationships to know what love is.  I never walked alone.

My small self was often in battles with my soul.

The Universe only serves the soul.  

My personality often balked at the needs of the soul.  Eventually my soul outgrew my little self.

I think we can see life through two eyes...our personality and our soul.

What is good for the soul often feels like hell to the personality.

I love that the Universe backs my soul!

 

When You are Aware.

"It is quite possible to listen to God's Voice all through the day without interrupting your regular activities in any way.  The part of your mind in which truth abides is in constant communication with God, whether you are aware of it or not. It is the other part of your mind that functions in the world and obeys the world's laws. It is the part that is constantly distracted, disorganized and highly uncertain."

"The part that is listening to the Voice of God is calm, always at rest and wholly certain. It is really the only part there is. The other part is a wild illusion, frantic, and distraught, but without reality of any kind...." A Course In Miracles.

These two parts of my mind I am very much aware of.  I can feel immediately when I slide into the belief in what is uncertain.  When I begin building a future in hypotheticals. When I believe I know for certain that which I can't know for certain.

My body feels awful when I am seeing life from the point of view where the truth doesn't exist.

Walking with the truth, is to be hand and hand with the Universe.

I love that you can hear The Voice if you stay with reality. 

As my mind files through all the possibilities of various reactions and how I will be seen or judged and critiqued, I find peace when I step away from my small part and see the bigger picture. 

Or, when I see the clip from the viewpoint of those seeking their truth and not those wanting to hide from it.

And, in the end, I have to let it all go.

I did my best. 

I said my words.

I brought all of me.

The Universe only accepts originals.

Where it goes from here, how others respond, is not mine to control or decide.

I didn't even decide what I would say; the truth decided for me.

What I love, is that the voice of truth is within all, whether they are aware or not, it is there behind the constantly distracted, disorganized and highly uncertain.

My peace comes in the midst of turmoil and uncertainty when I let those thoughts go and find my way back to snuggling with the truth, no matter how unsightly and off colored it is.  As odd as it sounds, this is where the Voice of the Universe resides.

Not in the peace or pretty place outside of evil, but right up against it.  It is always with reality. 

Reality is my God...you can't bless it away, you can't paint it or delete it...it just is.

You will join it when you are aware.