Trauma/Survivors » Pluck's Blog

the cat that lost it's meow

Trauma/Survivors, Writing/Publishing No Responses »

Dec 162008

The weekends have been busy. Too busy. So when Susan Epstein announced on Twitter she and her co-authors would be signing their book the cat who lost its meow at the Sun Up Gallery on Saturday and Sunday I hesitated. I recognized it could be useful to meet another author and see how successful the book event was. However, I had been on the go for days and I really needed to get some rest.

I was still undecided when I sat down at my computer and squeezed in one last task before going to bed Saturday night. As part of my marketing plan for my book, Not of My Making, I searched Facebook for classmates from my high school. I came up with a couple of dozen names. I didn’t recognize any of them. I pulled my yearbook off the shelf and looked up the men. The faces were familiar but I didn’t remember a thing about them. The women were more difficult. Facebook didn’t list their maiden names. So I sent them all invitations to join me on Facebook and went to bed.

In the morning among several replies I found “Your memory is better than mine. Who did you hang out with?”

Who did I hang out with? No one. Absolutely no one. No one would be caught dead being seen with me. I was a reject. At best I was ignored. At worst I was teased and bullied. There were a few kids who were kind and who spoke to me occasionally. But no one was openly my friend.

“Who did you hang out with?”

I took a deep breath and typed in the names of a few classmates. Maybe this will convince her I am really a former classmate.

Within minutes I had a reply. “Sorry about the last post.” She and several other women sent me their maiden names. With my yearbook on my lap I linked up the names with the faces. As I turned the pages my stomach churned and I felt confused. Who were the bullies? I couldn’t remember. Kids either teased me or stood silently by while I was demeaned. There were a handful of kids who were kind. I do remember them:Hattie, Gioimia, Steve, and Rose. But the names in front of me I didn’t remember. Faces were familiar but there are no memories to go along with them.

“Mom.” My daughter was standing at the door to my study. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” I put on my coat and picked up my bag. Driving to church I told my daughter about Susan Epstein’s book signing.

“Why don’t you want to go?” she asked.

“I’m tired and need some rest.”

She sighed. “Me, too, but it could be a good connection.”

During the church service I felt tears welling up. I just wanted to stay home where I was safe. Worried I was going to start weeping I swallowed and prayed. A peace descended over me. I would make the drive to Westerly to meet my Twitter friend.

After the church service, I dropped my daughter off at our house and drove to the Sun Up Gallery alone. I plugged in my iPod and listened to Christmas carols as I cruised south on Interstate 95. I felt safe.

My decision to go to the book signing turned out to be a good one. Sun Up Gallery was a lovely upscale gift shop. There was a guitarist playing holiday songs. The owner of a local winery was handing out free samples. I found Susan with her co-authors, Antoinette and Richard in the next room. After I introduced myself Susan became excited, “This is my first Tweetmeet.”

“Mine, too,” I said as we hugged each other.

Richard handed me their book, the cat who lost its meow. The cover was a photo of the artist cloth that inspired the story. It had the same texture. I ran my hand over it. Richard proudly showed me the actual cloth Susan and Antoinette had found on the beach. I skimmed their book as we talked. Proceeds from the sale of their bookmarks were going to National Association to PROTECT Children. It became obvious we had a lot in common. I suspected I was not the only survivor turned thriver in the room.

I read the cat who lost its meow when I returned home. I read while I made mashed potatoes for Sunday’s night dinner. At first, I didn’t get it. Did I miss something? Perhaps my fatigue prevented me from giving it the attention it deserved. Monday morning I re-read it.

Oh! I get it now. I’m a cat that’s lost its meow. Abused, neglected, abandoned and unloved I lost my meow. With God’s grace I got mine back through writing and publishing my own story. I have found love and acceptance with my husband and children. In my current church I have found people who strive to do what God has asked them to.

the cat who lost its meow can be appreciated on many levels by adults and children. It was lovingly crafted by three beautiful and caring individuals. I will certainly read it to the children I work with in my therapy practice. When my grandson is old enough to understand, I will read it to him, too.

Am I Bashing Churches?

Religion, Trauma/Survivors 1 Response »

Nov 172008

While I was doing a book signing at Bayshore Books in Oconto, Wisconsin, the storeowner asked me if my book bashed religion.

“No, why would you think that?” I asked.

“Because of your book’s subtitle,” she replied.

I picked up my book and read the title, “Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches.”

“It was only after I read your back cover that I felt reassured,” the storeowner said.

“What if the subtitle was, ‘Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Schools’? Would you think I was bashing schools?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I would think you wanted to end bullying in schools.”

“Well, that is what I want to do in churches. I want to make them safer places for everyone.”

As I wrote some time ago, I love church. My faith in Jesus is important to me. That was what made my dechurching so devastating. Church ceased to be a safe place. I learned that there is a difference between churchianity and Christianity. I wrote my book not to bash religion but to draw attention to the problem of bullying. I want churches to create an ethos where bullying would not be tolerated and we would help each other grow in faith. I don’t want other people to be hurt the way I was. I want to help those who have been hurt by church to reclaim their faith, return to their churches and work to make them safer places.

I want connection with others. I want to grow in my faith and become a better Christian. I don’t think you can do that alone. You need to go to church. So I go every Sunday to All Saints Anglican where “real” Christianity is preached and where the majority of the congregation tries to live their faith 365 days a year.

Abuse is abuse

Trauma/Survivors No Responses »

Sep 182008

As I read When a Congregation is Betrayed I began feeling anxious. The chapter by Patricia Liberty reminded me how successfully church officials silenced me. My thoughts turned to my need to have someone to talk to about what I was reading. I wondered if anyone had the patience or time for me. I felt tears just under the surface. Working through abuse is a life long burden. The book correctly stated clergy abuse was grievous with a long lasting impact on the victim. What it didn’t say was abuse is abuse. A sexual act doesn’t have to occur for abuse to have substantial impact on the victim. And while clergy abuse is evil it is not more or less evil than incest or abuse by a close family member or friend. I have counseled many abuse survivors – incest, victims of bullying at work, victims of war. Abuse is abuse. Victims all suffer. They often have long histories of being targets of predators who correctly see their vulnerability and attack. My work is only beginning.

Stigma

All, Trauma/Survivors No Responses »

Apr 292008

My client tells me about the man she is dating. She’s worried. He was sexually abused as a child. “Does that mean he might molest my kids?” she asked.
My throat tightens. I know what she is thinking. All those perps who say they were molested. But that may not be true. It may just be self serving trying to gain the sympathy from the judge and prosecutor. I want to cry. Outwardly I maintain my composure. “No, it’s not true,” I replied. “Survivors are probably less likely to molest your children. They know what it is like to be treated like an object. They are often tormented at the thought of other children suffering what they have suffered.”
My client doesn’t know I am a survivor. I don’t think this is the time for self disclosure so I don’t tell her. I don’t tell her I can’t get out of the starting gate. That people won’t give me a fair chance. With their false claims the perps have re-victimized me and other survivors by making people wary of us. Unknowingly bystanders become the perps’ accomplishes further injuring victims.
I would never hurt a child. I would never do to a child what was done to me. I just want to stop the pain. Just because I was molested doesn’t make me dangerous. The opposite is true. That is why I was so easily victimized. I was small, weak and vulnerable. My parents weren’t able to protect me. When will people stop rejecting me and see the good person that I am?
Somehow all of these myths affirm the higher social rank of people who were never victimized. People often admire the bully and despise the victim. Once victimized you are garbage. You don’t account for anything. Reject. Reject. I hear the taunts from my childhood ringing in my head. I see myself hurrying home from school trying to hide my tears. I just want a place for myself and other survivors. That is why my book is so important. It is a starting point. It is the beginning of educating the public about survivors and helping them find a place without having to hide what was done to them.
God, please, please help me do this. I am so scared.