Today there’s not much to write. Now that I’ve written that,
I’ll probably write a novel!
We’ve made it through nearly two weeks of homeschooling, and
everyone is still sane! It is one of the toughest things I’ve ever done, though it
does seem to be paying off, even being in the honeymoon period. The kids are
calmer. Robert’s not coming home beaten up. Dennis isn’t coming home with four
hours of homework. A “normal” day has been in the ballpark of nine hours. I’m sure
we’ll get to a point where it is closer to six hours per day.
As to weight loss, my personal check-in is tomorrow. Last
Thursday I had weighed in at Vanderbilt and lost forty pounds and ten inches.
Very exciting! I’ll post additional pictures soon. I’m waiting for one from my
cousin that shows my beginning highest weight. Hopefully I’ll have that to share
soon.
The most important issue I faced, and have faced for over
two years in CR, was my experience with child molestation. At the age of seven, on November
13th of 1976, I was hurt by a friend of my parents, a neighbor that
lived behind us. I will not go into detail here because that’s not the point.
The point is I was able to tell my father from point A to Z what happened.
Everything. At that point in time, when I was seven years old, I did not have
the words to explain. And honestly, he was so upset, I don’t think I would have
been able to. What happened in my young girl’s mind is this: My father, after
learning of what happened, rushed home from work. He was, understandably,
upset. He grabbed a gun and was going to shoot the man that hurt me. Our
neighbor came over and stood in front of my dad, eventually stopping him.
My dad then took me into my parent’s bedroom, at this point
in time being a parent myself, I understand my father’s anger. At this point in time, at the age of seven,
I did not understand. He held the gun in front of me asking what I had done. In my mind I
was screaming I didn’t do anything, daddy. But the words wouldn’t come. I could
only shake my head and try to make myself as small as humanly possible. He then
asked what the man had done to me. Again, the words wouldn’t come. I just did
not have the vocabulary to explain what had happened. I only knew it was wrong.
I was able to speak of this to my father for the first time
last week. It is healing to get the bad stuff out. It is healing to cry. So many
times, I’m sure you can relate, I’ve been in survival mode. Get to moment one,
get to moment two, get through day one, get to day two. One step in front of
the other. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.
For many years I was heavy because I felt safer. Who would
find me attractive? It was my safety blanket of sorts. Then I had an aha moment
with my husband. We have been members of Peoples Church and Peoples Church CR
for a little over two years. I have been MIA for approximately three months
because of work, surgery, and now I don’t want to lose this momentum I’ve
started in the exercising quadrant of my life. I’ll go back, I’ve no doubt. CR
helped me deal with the loss of my mother. You see, when I was molested I was
paralyzed. I literally could not move. My beautiful, strong, pain-in-the-ass
mother who could push my buttons like no other felt something was wrong and she
came looking for me. I heard her voice and I started to cry. And then I started
to run. She was only 4’11”, but don’t you know it, she knocked that damn door
down! My mom, in more ways than I could ever describe, was my hero. All the way
around she was my hero. When I lost her, I lost my very best friend, my savior
of sorts, my hero, my mommy. To this day, I cannot think too long on her for
fear of being useless the rest of the day. I digress. My aha moment was when I
said I was heavy to protect myself – it didn’t’ make sense. I had been heavy
from the age of four. I was seven. Oh my goodness! I realized it wasn’t because
of what had happened to me. It was because of my lifestyle. Because of my mom’s
lifestyle. As wonderfully, beautifully, strong she was, she had an easily
broken heart. And it was broken numerous times. Her cure was to eat. And my
being a little girl without a vote, I was her food companion.
So here we are today. And what I have done with all of this
overlap is this: My mom had her life. Yes, there was immense heartbreak, and
there were broken dreams. But, really, that’s life. We all have heartbreak and
broken dreams. This is my life. I must live it to the best of my ability. For
myself, for my husband, for my children to witness. I must live with my head
held high in honor of my mom, and in honor of some of the things I’ve had to
survive. We all have our own story, we all have our own darkness to bring to
light and call it what it really is – that man was coward and child molester.
It wasn’t my fault. It never was. The best end to this story is my living a fulfilling
life, thereby cancelling out any damage he tried to do.
I love you, mommy. Thank you for saving me that day, and so
many others, some I do not have any knowledge of. I will miss you until we meet
again.
God’s Blessings on your day, y’all! Thank you for popping by.
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