Sexually charged by age 5, I played doctor with most of my friends. We put objects in our sexual orifices. I looked at pin-up pictures of women and was aroused. It all felt normal to me to be curious about the private parts of girls and boys. I was caught kissing a boy in kindergarten and was publicly shamed by my teacher in front of my classmates.
I had no conscious knowledge of what was taking place in my own home to destroy my innocence !
Our home was a tiny old 600 SF beach cottage with two small bedrooms and one bathroom with a claw-foot tub and pedestal sink. The few furnishings we had were old and the kitchen curtains were torn. No one else had these worn relics in their home thus I felt poor. I hated to bring my friends home because I thought my father would walk in anytime and embarrass me in his drunkenness.
Because of his alcoholism, dad couldn't keep a job. He worked odd hours and came home during the afternoon, making my life miserable with his intimidation. I stayed outside as long as I could until mom arrived home from her full-time job, trying to support the six of us.
To help out, my older brother had a paper route and did yard work. At times we had no hot water, electricity or food. Our church often left paper grocery bags on our front porch. When we visited my mom's relatives they gave us crates of avocados and tangerines. When my father did bring home food he boasted about what a great cook he was and repeatedly told us that mom couldn't make toast. He frequently fished in the ocean across the street and traded some of it for treasures like abalone and lobster. Feast or famine !
During dinner dad intimidated all of us. We weren't allowed to talk at the dinner table. His philosophy of "divide and conquer" worked well to keep us separate and distrustful of our siblings. My mother never said anything and kept distant and uninterested in me. I continued to have fits of rage and fought him, though it only isolated me more from the rest of my family.
At school I felt inferior to everyone around me because I had very few changes of clothes; when I had no shoes to begin second grade I had to wear flip-flops. The only reason I had any nice clothes was because my older sister got a job at a local bakery and bought things for me with her meager income. My feelings of inferiority motivated me to compete in every aspect of my life.
My musical abilities helped give me a sense of accomplishment and self-esteem; I was the vocal soloist at school and church. At age 9 my mom paid for me to take piano lessons for $3/week; I rode my bike to my piano teacher's home and easily all aspects of the piano. Mr. Diano was a jazz pianist at a local bar. I often had a queasy feeling being in his home though he never did or said anything inappropriate. One day when I arrived, Jo Ann Castle, a talented TV pianist frequenting The Lawrence Welk Show was visiting him. Mr. Diano told her that I was his best student; he asked me to play a piano piece for her, She was delighted and encouraged me. Her support was greatly needed and appreciated. My musical confidence escalated; I continued piano lessons through college.
Next, early puberty . . . . .
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Lion's Den Part II
"Jesus, please take daddy home or take me !"
The suffering three-year-old, Eileen (my birth name) wanted to be safe, didn't want to be terrorized by her drunken, raging father anymore.
The answer came in a gift.
I heard music and went to the old upright piano in our tiny living room. I began to play a song by ear. My voice opened up and I sang like an angel !
Not only could I sing but I began to stand up against the raging lion in our home. When he came in during the night and began fighting with my mom, I found new courage in my heart. I tried to protect her even though I was so small.
Because I fought back verbally and physically I acquired the name of "brat" by my mom, and "pest" by my older sister and brother.
Nothing deterred me from speaking out; a new level of hatred brewed in my heart. I wanted my dad removed from our lives.
My prayers and wishes didn't change this frightening environment.
In its place I received another gift.
Learning to read in a week at age four, I sailed above all my classmates in school. My teachers adored me and I them. Because everything came easily and quickly I was easily bored, hence given all errands to keep me occupied. I often stayed after school, calculating huge math problems on the green board in my classroom.
I found freedom and a safe haven at the beach and bay that encircled our little town; I felt safer outside than I ever felt in my home.
My energy level produced another gift, athletic ability; none in the school could outrun or outplay me at any game.
The dark side was my competitive and extremely volatile personality that clashed with my closest friends as I often fought with them to confirm my superiority.
At home I threw huge tantrums and often beat my head on the wall trying to get my mother to show interest in me. She was annoyed and walked away; our only connection was a prayer before bedtime.
My only respite was washing dishes because I was left alone unless I didn't scrub the wrought iron skillet good enough after a fried chicken dinner. Then the monster bullied me as I seethed in silence.
I was living two lives by age 5; the pretty little green-eyed blond with the cheerful personality who could do anything; and the tortured, angry child trying to change my mom's decision to stay with my dad.
The suffering three-year-old, Eileen (my birth name) wanted to be safe, didn't want to be terrorized by her drunken, raging father anymore.
The answer came in a gift.
I heard music and went to the old upright piano in our tiny living room. I began to play a song by ear. My voice opened up and I sang like an angel !
Not only could I sing but I began to stand up against the raging lion in our home. When he came in during the night and began fighting with my mom, I found new courage in my heart. I tried to protect her even though I was so small.
Because I fought back verbally and physically I acquired the name of "brat" by my mom, and "pest" by my older sister and brother.
Nothing deterred me from speaking out; a new level of hatred brewed in my heart. I wanted my dad removed from our lives.
My prayers and wishes didn't change this frightening environment.
In its place I received another gift.
Learning to read in a week at age four, I sailed above all my classmates in school. My teachers adored me and I them. Because everything came easily and quickly I was easily bored, hence given all errands to keep me occupied. I often stayed after school, calculating huge math problems on the green board in my classroom.
I found freedom and a safe haven at the beach and bay that encircled our little town; I felt safer outside than I ever felt in my home.
My energy level produced another gift, athletic ability; none in the school could outrun or outplay me at any game.
The dark side was my competitive and extremely volatile personality that clashed with my closest friends as I often fought with them to confirm my superiority.
At home I threw huge tantrums and often beat my head on the wall trying to get my mother to show interest in me. She was annoyed and walked away; our only connection was a prayer before bedtime.
My only respite was washing dishes because I was left alone unless I didn't scrub the wrought iron skillet good enough after a fried chicken dinner. Then the monster bullied me as I seethed in silence.
I was living two lives by age 5; the pretty little green-eyed blond with the cheerful personality who could do anything; and the tortured, angry child trying to change my mom's decision to stay with my dad.
When I went to the little church right across from our home, I was praised for my angelic behavior and musical talent. There I won all contests for most Bible verses memorized and received positive attention from the teachers.
My life was already a complex dichotomy.
More to come . . .
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Road Signs Part I
A friend informed me that my child was suffering from and eating disorder; I didn't see any signs.
Another friend gave me a book on INCEST, saying that God told him to give it to me; I was in denial.
I read it and trembled in fear, no longer in denial.
While making love one night I screamed for my spouse to get off me NOW !!! I thought he was my dad.
My first counselor said that he could feel the spirit of sexual victimization as I sat in his waiting room.
At the dinner table I felt a hand on my inner thigh and smelled a repugnant odor from my dad.
My counselor asked me to SEE who else was victimized; I saw many family members in a circle in the dark.
My grandmother made a blood sacrifice for my soul.
I couldn't sleep, had night sweats, nightmares filled with dark figures, demons, all chasing me.
I stopped seeing my first counselor because I couldn't talk about sex with a male.
I no longer could function outside of my home; I stayed in bed most of the day for months.
I told my sister what I remembered in my dreams; she said, "They're only dreams!"
My niece was hospitalized in a children's psychiatric facility for threatening her sister; I talked with her mom about my memories.
My brother said that my father had been molested by his father while in the bath tub.
My sister came to see me; called me a witch and crazy.
My older brother came over and said that I had better stop talking; my life was threatened.
I was referred by another friend to a female counselor.
My new counselor asked me what my nightmare was about the night before though I hadn't mentioned that I had one.
I thought I was going crazy, hallucinating, shaking, frightened, not sleeping, developing phobias.
I checked into a women's facility because I could no longer function as a mother, wife or business partner.
Three weeks in, I started screaming due to deep, horrifying fear.
All I saw and felt was utter darkness.
I prayed and prayed and prayed to be rescued from my internal torture.
LOVE was with me all along; I found comfort and respite at times during the storm.
So the journey begins . . . .
Another friend gave me a book on INCEST, saying that God told him to give it to me; I was in denial.
I read it and trembled in fear, no longer in denial.
While making love one night I screamed for my spouse to get off me NOW !!! I thought he was my dad.
My first counselor said that he could feel the spirit of sexual victimization as I sat in his waiting room.
At the dinner table I felt a hand on my inner thigh and smelled a repugnant odor from my dad.
My counselor asked me to SEE who else was victimized; I saw many family members in a circle in the dark.
My grandmother made a blood sacrifice for my soul.
I couldn't sleep, had night sweats, nightmares filled with dark figures, demons, all chasing me.
I stopped seeing my first counselor because I couldn't talk about sex with a male.
I no longer could function outside of my home; I stayed in bed most of the day for months.
I told my sister what I remembered in my dreams; she said, "They're only dreams!"
My niece was hospitalized in a children's psychiatric facility for threatening her sister; I talked with her mom about my memories.
My brother said that my father had been molested by his father while in the bath tub.
My sister came to see me; called me a witch and crazy.
My older brother came over and said that I had better stop talking; my life was threatened.
I was referred by another friend to a female counselor.
My new counselor asked me what my nightmare was about the night before though I hadn't mentioned that I had one.
The ceiling was dripping with blood from a cat on a rope; I was strapped to a table in a dimly lit room.
I thought I was going crazy, hallucinating, shaking, frightened, not sleeping, developing phobias.
I checked into a women's facility because I could no longer function as a mother, wife or business partner.
Three weeks in, I started screaming due to deep, horrifying fear.
All I saw and felt was utter darkness.
I prayed and prayed and prayed to be rescued from my internal torture.
LOVE was with me all along; I found comfort and respite at times during the storm.
So the journey begins . . . .
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Familial Disease
I have been in emotional pain for the last four days.
My mother 91, fell and was taken to the hospital, suffering two lumbar fractures. I wasn't informed for over nine hours until I received a call from an administrator at her assisted living facility asking to authorize pain medication for her. I was distraught to think that mom was in pain and hadn't received any relief.
I was angry when I discovered that my sibling was notified, didn't go to the hospital and didn't pass along the information to the rest of the sibilings. Lack of communication is a chronic, negative effect of our family disease of incest.
As the messenger of the truth regarding my father as my perpetrator, I was immediately accused of lying, and promptly ostracized from the family. When I did have the courage to walk into my parent's home uninvited 10 years later I was accepted back with lingering unforgiveness from most of my family members.
When my father was dying of cancer God gave me the knowledge and love to take him to the hospital and set up hospice assistance. I stayed with him until his death eight weeks later, sang for him before he died, and sang AMAZING GRACE at his memorial service.
Three days before his death my father told me that I was the only person he trusted because "I know", and asked me to take care of mom. My mother lived with my husband and me for two years until my sibling removed her with his own ulterior motives. Shortly thereafter his spouse didn't want her and placed her in an assisted living environment which did not meet her medical needs of increasing frailty and dementia.
After my husband visited her residence and insisted that we be called in an emergency, the next night she had another fall. Because I was sick with fever, my dear husband got up after midnight, drove to the hospital and called all of my siblings on his way. She was returned to her residence in the early morning. He came home, slept two hours and got up for work. After my siblings found out what had transpired, mom was immediately removed from her residence back to my sibling's place rather than to a skilled nursing facility.
We are in crisis mode unnecessarily; two siblings made the decision to move her without consulting me or my other sibling. This is so typical of my family and so painfully disrespectful.
Yesterday my husband and I helped move her belongings because I didn't want all of her precious possessions thrown around without regard.
I have cried myself to sleep for three nights now because I know my mom is suffering and I have no control over her living situation.
This is a direct result of the devastating damages of incest in our family.
I have been very irritable, guilt-ridden, frustrated, discouraged and angry; unfortunately for my husband, my anger has been misdirected.
Right now I feel like I am never going to completely heal from the emotional damage of incest.
Thankfully, I know this is NOT the truth; I will overcome this !
My mother 91, fell and was taken to the hospital, suffering two lumbar fractures. I wasn't informed for over nine hours until I received a call from an administrator at her assisted living facility asking to authorize pain medication for her. I was distraught to think that mom was in pain and hadn't received any relief.
I was angry when I discovered that my sibling was notified, didn't go to the hospital and didn't pass along the information to the rest of the sibilings. Lack of communication is a chronic, negative effect of our family disease of incest.
As the messenger of the truth regarding my father as my perpetrator, I was immediately accused of lying, and promptly ostracized from the family. When I did have the courage to walk into my parent's home uninvited 10 years later I was accepted back with lingering unforgiveness from most of my family members.
When my father was dying of cancer God gave me the knowledge and love to take him to the hospital and set up hospice assistance. I stayed with him until his death eight weeks later, sang for him before he died, and sang AMAZING GRACE at his memorial service.
Three days before his death my father told me that I was the only person he trusted because "I know", and asked me to take care of mom. My mother lived with my husband and me for two years until my sibling removed her with his own ulterior motives. Shortly thereafter his spouse didn't want her and placed her in an assisted living environment which did not meet her medical needs of increasing frailty and dementia.
After my husband visited her residence and insisted that we be called in an emergency, the next night she had another fall. Because I was sick with fever, my dear husband got up after midnight, drove to the hospital and called all of my siblings on his way. She was returned to her residence in the early morning. He came home, slept two hours and got up for work. After my siblings found out what had transpired, mom was immediately removed from her residence back to my sibling's place rather than to a skilled nursing facility.
We are in crisis mode unnecessarily; two siblings made the decision to move her without consulting me or my other sibling. This is so typical of my family and so painfully disrespectful.
Yesterday my husband and I helped move her belongings because I didn't want all of her precious possessions thrown around without regard.
I have cried myself to sleep for three nights now because I know my mom is suffering and I have no control over her living situation.
This is a direct result of the devastating damages of incest in our family.
I have been very irritable, guilt-ridden, frustrated, discouraged and angry; unfortunately for my husband, my anger has been misdirected.
Right now I feel like I am never going to completely heal from the emotional damage of incest.
Thankfully, I know this is NOT the truth; I will overcome this !
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Raging Relapse
3 a m and wide awake with a tight chest, racing thoughts, feelings of hopelessness . . . .
anxiety creeps in and I can no longer sleep or even rest. I walk outside in my bathrobe onto the deck in the chilly night just to try to relax and breathe. I whimper, and pray the best I can to let go of and surrender to LOVE the anxiety that has swept over me . . .
It all began . . . .
Last night as I told my spouse that I can't live in our current residence any longer !
A series of events preceded this dilemma . . . .
Five years ago my Dad died (yes, my abuser) and mom came to live with us for nearly 2 years until my older brother moved her out for his own ulterior reasons.We lost our home 3 years ago after I left my job due to a harrassing boss; my spouse started a construction company at the same period of time in a sinking economy.
Everything caved in on us all at once !
We moved from 2400 SF into a cozy 500 SF granny flat connected to my nephew's expansive home above us on a lovely hillside overlooking the city. I knew that we wouldn't stay for long, yet 3 years have already passed.
Have I already said that I am a compulsive cleaner and need order to feel peaceful in my environment ???
Living with my spouse, a dog, a cat my spouse and the property impacted with construction tools I often feel irritable and clostrophobic.
Last night as I drove home I was dreading our conversation, knowing it wouldn't be pleasant.
A little piece of history . . . .
My spouse was raised in Belgium by his grandparents because his parents were both factory workers who didn't own a car so he only saw them on weekends. Needless to say, some unresolved issues . . .
As soon as I shared my frustration, he became defensive. I was too abrupt when I said that I can't stand it anymore and basically said that we HAVE to move ! Things progressed downhill quickly, without going into the ugly details.
I want to preface this confession with the fact that both J and I are a thoughtful and generous couple who work together helping others and making creative projects, the positive aspect of our relationship. He is well loved by everyone we know; and most of the time I feel happy with our marriage. Before our moved, I was able to compartmentalize the STUFF into rooms and the garage and didn't feel overwhelmed.
One major weakness in our relationship is that our communication SUCKS !!!
As soon as I was accused of being selfish regarding details of the changes I want to make, my wounded heart perceived J as being my abusive, controlling, oppressive father who said that I would never make it without him. So the raging wounded child in me started YELLING for 5 minutes . . . .then I caught myself midstream and walked outside . . .
Called my daughter, took a bath and a sleep aid . . .
However . . . I awakened abruptly at 3 . . .
3 am is the witching hour for me . . . this is the time I was consistently yanked out of bed to be taken to another place of horrors . . .
Whenever I have a disagreement I tend to awaken at 3 am . . . no amount of journaling, therapy, and years of acknowledging and letting go of memories has healed this area completely. Yet, I experience a far less degree of anxiety and don't use anti-anxiety medications any more. Step by step . . .
Knowing full well that the wounded child in me is terrified I am at times unable to console her. No amount of reassurance that she is in a safeplace will lull her into reverie.
Thankfully, the one key mantra for me that is working is that I consciously start thinking about other children that I know who are suffering. When I begin praying for their safety and healing I am able to calm myself better and usually can slumber again.
I know that in time I will learn better to communicate because I already have made improvements. But once PTSD sets in, the road out is very difficult.
In retrospect I could have approached this need in a positive way by suggesting that we set of goal of 6 months, saving enough money for the cost of moving. Instead, I sabotaged myself by making an ultimatum.
I am humbled by my woundedness and pray that I will continue to heal in this area so that I may be a more loving and reasonable partner.
anxiety creeps in and I can no longer sleep or even rest. I walk outside in my bathrobe onto the deck in the chilly night just to try to relax and breathe. I whimper, and pray the best I can to let go of and surrender to LOVE the anxiety that has swept over me . . .
It all began . . . .
Last night as I told my spouse that I can't live in our current residence any longer !
A series of events preceded this dilemma . . . .
Five years ago my Dad died (yes, my abuser) and mom came to live with us for nearly 2 years until my older brother moved her out for his own ulterior reasons.We lost our home 3 years ago after I left my job due to a harrassing boss; my spouse started a construction company at the same period of time in a sinking economy.
Everything caved in on us all at once !
We moved from 2400 SF into a cozy 500 SF granny flat connected to my nephew's expansive home above us on a lovely hillside overlooking the city. I knew that we wouldn't stay for long, yet 3 years have already passed.
Have I already said that I am a compulsive cleaner and need order to feel peaceful in my environment ???
Living with my spouse, a dog, a cat my spouse and the property impacted with construction tools I often feel irritable and clostrophobic.
Last night as I drove home I was dreading our conversation, knowing it wouldn't be pleasant.
A little piece of history . . . .
My spouse was raised in Belgium by his grandparents because his parents were both factory workers who didn't own a car so he only saw them on weekends. Needless to say, some unresolved issues . . .
As soon as I shared my frustration, he became defensive. I was too abrupt when I said that I can't stand it anymore and basically said that we HAVE to move ! Things progressed downhill quickly, without going into the ugly details.
I want to preface this confession with the fact that both J and I are a thoughtful and generous couple who work together helping others and making creative projects, the positive aspect of our relationship. He is well loved by everyone we know; and most of the time I feel happy with our marriage. Before our moved, I was able to compartmentalize the STUFF into rooms and the garage and didn't feel overwhelmed.
One major weakness in our relationship is that our communication SUCKS !!!
As soon as I was accused of being selfish regarding details of the changes I want to make, my wounded heart perceived J as being my abusive, controlling, oppressive father who said that I would never make it without him. So the raging wounded child in me started YELLING for 5 minutes . . . .then I caught myself midstream and walked outside . . .
Called my daughter, took a bath and a sleep aid . . .
However . . . I awakened abruptly at 3 . . .
3 am is the witching hour for me . . . this is the time I was consistently yanked out of bed to be taken to another place of horrors . . .
Whenever I have a disagreement I tend to awaken at 3 am . . . no amount of journaling, therapy, and years of acknowledging and letting go of memories has healed this area completely. Yet, I experience a far less degree of anxiety and don't use anti-anxiety medications any more. Step by step . . .
Knowing full well that the wounded child in me is terrified I am at times unable to console her. No amount of reassurance that she is in a safeplace will lull her into reverie.
Thankfully, the one key mantra for me that is working is that I consciously start thinking about other children that I know who are suffering. When I begin praying for their safety and healing I am able to calm myself better and usually can slumber again.
I know that in time I will learn better to communicate because I already have made improvements. But once PTSD sets in, the road out is very difficult.
In retrospect I could have approached this need in a positive way by suggesting that we set of goal of 6 months, saving enough money for the cost of moving. Instead, I sabotaged myself by making an ultimatum.
I am humbled by my woundedness and pray that I will continue to heal in this area so that I may be a more loving and reasonable partner.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Shopping: My Drug of Choice
I'd rather be shopping at Nordstroms !
This statement used to frame my license plate.
When my daughter told me that she would go with me to Nordstroms so that I wouldn't spend so much money, I knew my secret was out !
Raised in a low income home, we had very few essentials; at times we had no hot water or electricity and I didn't even have a pair of shoes when I went to second grade. I felt ashamed and embarrassed !
I always vowed that one day I would have lots of fine things in my life.
I kept my promise to myself. As my first husband became a successful architect my dreams began to be realized.
The problem was that I couldn't say NO to anything I adored ! It didn't matter what it was, I just had to have it at that moment. I often hid purchases in the closet thinking that what my spouse didn't see he wouldn't notice.
When Imelda Marcos was exposed for her obsessive overindulgences, I personally owned over 150 pairs of shoes. I felt slightly embarrassed but still didn't acknowledge that I had a serious spending problem.
I ignored my behavior and so did my spouse; he had his own issues. We maintained an unspoken agreement to remain silent about our self-sabotaging behaviors.
Eventually, the truth was revealed; we were headed for bankruptcy. We blamed it on the economy. The truth is that if I had not spent so much we could have saved for a downturn in the economy.
I still continued my addictive behavior; I refused to acknowledge my destructive habit and kept spending.
When my spouse was offered a lucrative job in Moscow, Russia I soon had more money that I had ever imagined and I spent it on trips, clothes, and gifts. No matter how much he made I managed to spend to the max !
When my first marriage finally dissolved and I left the extravagant lifestyle, reality set in; I couldn't hide my addiction from myself any longer.
I'd like to say that I immediately changed and became frugal; unfortunately, it has taken several years for me to overcome my compulsive behavior.
When I get angry, bored, discouraged, anxious or even excited the first thing I want is a FIX !
My compulsive shopping is no different than using a drug to numb myself from facing uncomfortable situations in my life. I was running away from my own suffering. My childhood was fraught with abuse so I tried to comfort myself and to fill the emptiness. It seemed easier to avoid the source of my pain than to face it. My first instinct was to run !
Over time I began facing my discomfort and noticed that my urge to shop or run away lessened.
Now I hold myself accountable and so does my spouse. Whenever I want to purchase something, I discuss it with him to decide whether or not it is a necessary expenditure.
I rarely shop alone; when I do, I create a list and a price range and stay within a budget. I have started a savings account and am learning to plan for future goals and dreams.
With Christmas arriving, I already feel the excitement of shopping.
Yesterday I went to a mall and purchased items on my list for my grandchildren, keeping within my reasonable limits. As I was leaving I walked through a new store on my way out and noticed lots of things that I would love to wear. The adrenaline began pumping through my entire body. I felt intoxicated, and wanted to spend, spend, spend ! I recognized the self-sabortaging sign and immediately left the store. Calling my daughter in the parking lot, I confessed that I felt like an alcoholic at a bar and had to remove myself from temptation.
When I got home I shared the entire experience with my spouse. He told me how proud he was that I had stayed on my projected course and even spent less than I had originally planned, buying only sale items.
I am encouraged that I am learning to overcome my self-destructive pattern. I know that I am still vulnerable and need to be aware of my feelings so that I don't fall into the same trap again.
I now surrender my uncomfortable moments to God and humbly asking that He fill the empitness with more of Himself.
Shopping till I drop is no longer my slogan !
This statement used to frame my license plate.
When my daughter told me that she would go with me to Nordstroms so that I wouldn't spend so much money, I knew my secret was out !
Raised in a low income home, we had very few essentials; at times we had no hot water or electricity and I didn't even have a pair of shoes when I went to second grade. I felt ashamed and embarrassed !
I always vowed that one day I would have lots of fine things in my life.
I kept my promise to myself. As my first husband became a successful architect my dreams began to be realized.
The problem was that I couldn't say NO to anything I adored ! It didn't matter what it was, I just had to have it at that moment. I often hid purchases in the closet thinking that what my spouse didn't see he wouldn't notice.
When Imelda Marcos was exposed for her obsessive overindulgences, I personally owned over 150 pairs of shoes. I felt slightly embarrassed but still didn't acknowledge that I had a serious spending problem.
I ignored my behavior and so did my spouse; he had his own issues. We maintained an unspoken agreement to remain silent about our self-sabotaging behaviors.
Eventually, the truth was revealed; we were headed for bankruptcy. We blamed it on the economy. The truth is that if I had not spent so much we could have saved for a downturn in the economy.
I still continued my addictive behavior; I refused to acknowledge my destructive habit and kept spending.
When my spouse was offered a lucrative job in Moscow, Russia I soon had more money that I had ever imagined and I spent it on trips, clothes, and gifts. No matter how much he made I managed to spend to the max !
When my first marriage finally dissolved and I left the extravagant lifestyle, reality set in; I couldn't hide my addiction from myself any longer.
I'd like to say that I immediately changed and became frugal; unfortunately, it has taken several years for me to overcome my compulsive behavior.
When I get angry, bored, discouraged, anxious or even excited the first thing I want is a FIX !
My compulsive shopping is no different than using a drug to numb myself from facing uncomfortable situations in my life. I was running away from my own suffering. My childhood was fraught with abuse so I tried to comfort myself and to fill the emptiness. It seemed easier to avoid the source of my pain than to face it. My first instinct was to run !
Over time I began facing my discomfort and noticed that my urge to shop or run away lessened.
Now I hold myself accountable and so does my spouse. Whenever I want to purchase something, I discuss it with him to decide whether or not it is a necessary expenditure.
I rarely shop alone; when I do, I create a list and a price range and stay within a budget. I have started a savings account and am learning to plan for future goals and dreams.
With Christmas arriving, I already feel the excitement of shopping.
Yesterday I went to a mall and purchased items on my list for my grandchildren, keeping within my reasonable limits. As I was leaving I walked through a new store on my way out and noticed lots of things that I would love to wear. The adrenaline began pumping through my entire body. I felt intoxicated, and wanted to spend, spend, spend ! I recognized the self-sabortaging sign and immediately left the store. Calling my daughter in the parking lot, I confessed that I felt like an alcoholic at a bar and had to remove myself from temptation.
When I got home I shared the entire experience with my spouse. He told me how proud he was that I had stayed on my projected course and even spent less than I had originally planned, buying only sale items.
I am encouraged that I am learning to overcome my self-destructive pattern. I know that I am still vulnerable and need to be aware of my feelings so that I don't fall into the same trap again.
I now surrender my uncomfortable moments to God and humbly asking that He fill the empitness with more of Himself.
Shopping till I drop is no longer my slogan !
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Miscommunication
Talking with my daughter-in-love about the upcoming Thanksgiving dinner she is hosting for our family, we were discussing details about the food preparation and equipment needed.
I excitedly told her that I planned to prepare a vegetarian dish for my granddaughter and perhaps a cranberry dish as well.
As soon as these words left my lips, her facial expression changed from joyful enthusiasm to discouragement. I suddenly realized that I had said too much and had hurt her feelings; something I would never intentionally want to do.
When she walked out the door heading for work I felt the tension between us and tried to fix it by backtracking, which didn't help alleviate her suffering. After I thought it over for a few minutes I sent her a quick apology via text and mentioned that I didn't mean to take over her dinner plans, only wanted to help, but was just chattering away without thinking; this is my usual style of communication.
I didn't hear back from her for a few hours. During that time I agonized over what I could have done differently; then I went to a very dark place inside myself.
I called my spouse and blubbered that I felt unappreciated and like a second-class citizen ! After all, I was only trying to help! I mentioned all the things I do for my family and how I always do what they want. I was crying and feeling sorry for myself.
What an overreaction on my part !
After ranting about the situation and feeling like it was irreparable I began to calm down and gain some understanding. I began to remember how I felt the first time I prepared Thanksgiving for my family. I wanted everything perfect ! I created the entire menu for 40 family members including decorations, table settings and name tags. When my cousin arrived and tried to help me with the arrangements I felt resentful rather than thankful for her assistance !
Later when I received a message from my daughter via text, she thanked me for my desire to help and stated kindly that she wanted to prepare all the food as a gift to our family.
Did I ever feel ashamed of myself !
During misunderstandings I often overreact and experience feelings of despair and hopelessness. When these intensely uncomfortable feelings surface I realize now that they are not due to the current conflict but are related to painful experiences during my childhood.
As a child I was a fighter. If dad were drunk I would try to protect my mother during his rampage, even at the early age of three. My family often called me a pest. I would probably have been labeled as having ADHD if the term had been used in the 50's.
Because of the frightening experiences of sexual abuse throughout my childhood I can easily become discouraged and experience a sense of hopelessness. When I recognize what I am doing to myself I sit still and ask God what is really going on with me; the answers come in a quiet and peaceful way.
When in conflict I initially condemn myself for my failings and then feel sorry for myself. I am now learning to hold myself accountable for my part in any miscommunication and forgive myself for my less than perfect reactions.
I am on an enlightening journey and mindful of its wondrously unfolding beauty.
I excitedly told her that I planned to prepare a vegetarian dish for my granddaughter and perhaps a cranberry dish as well.
As soon as these words left my lips, her facial expression changed from joyful enthusiasm to discouragement. I suddenly realized that I had said too much and had hurt her feelings; something I would never intentionally want to do.
When she walked out the door heading for work I felt the tension between us and tried to fix it by backtracking, which didn't help alleviate her suffering. After I thought it over for a few minutes I sent her a quick apology via text and mentioned that I didn't mean to take over her dinner plans, only wanted to help, but was just chattering away without thinking; this is my usual style of communication.
I didn't hear back from her for a few hours. During that time I agonized over what I could have done differently; then I went to a very dark place inside myself.
I called my spouse and blubbered that I felt unappreciated and like a second-class citizen ! After all, I was only trying to help! I mentioned all the things I do for my family and how I always do what they want. I was crying and feeling sorry for myself.
What an overreaction on my part !
After ranting about the situation and feeling like it was irreparable I began to calm down and gain some understanding. I began to remember how I felt the first time I prepared Thanksgiving for my family. I wanted everything perfect ! I created the entire menu for 40 family members including decorations, table settings and name tags. When my cousin arrived and tried to help me with the arrangements I felt resentful rather than thankful for her assistance !
Later when I received a message from my daughter via text, she thanked me for my desire to help and stated kindly that she wanted to prepare all the food as a gift to our family.
Did I ever feel ashamed of myself !
During misunderstandings I often overreact and experience feelings of despair and hopelessness. When these intensely uncomfortable feelings surface I realize now that they are not due to the current conflict but are related to painful experiences during my childhood.
As a child I was a fighter. If dad were drunk I would try to protect my mother during his rampage, even at the early age of three. My family often called me a pest. I would probably have been labeled as having ADHD if the term had been used in the 50's.
Because of the frightening experiences of sexual abuse throughout my childhood I can easily become discouraged and experience a sense of hopelessness. When I recognize what I am doing to myself I sit still and ask God what is really going on with me; the answers come in a quiet and peaceful way.
When in conflict I initially condemn myself for my failings and then feel sorry for myself. I am now learning to hold myself accountable for my part in any miscommunication and forgive myself for my less than perfect reactions.
I am on an enlightening journey and mindful of its wondrously unfolding beauty.
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