Sticks and Stones, Blah, Blah, Blah

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

We all learned that rhyme in elementary school and we all wished it was true, but it’s not. It’s a lie.

Broken bones and bruises heal, rarely leaving behind long-term damage except maybe some scar tissue.

Words on the other hand get into our mind and make their way into who we are. They become a part of us. It can take years to get over the damage that words can cause.

When I was a kid, my dad had a stick he used to “discipline” my siblings and I. Anything we did that he or my mom didn’t much approve of could cause him to produce the stick.

The stick was actually a three-foot long piece of two-inch base board. It was about a quarter of an inch thick. It’s home was the top of the refrigerator.

When we had to be “beat with the stick” as he called it, he would stand in front of the refrigerator so we could see the stick peeking over the edge while he yelled at us.

He had a few favorite phrases for us:

Shit-for-brains

Stupid

Good-for-nothing

Idiot

Worthless

Selfish

He also added words that fit whatever the situation was, then the beating began.

I was always relieved when he started hitting us. He’d swing his hand back and bring the stick down hard to our butts or the back of our legs at least five times, sometimes more. You could hear the swoosh of air before the stick made contact with our backside. Then the sting set in.

Sometimes there were bruises, once he hit my brother so hard that the stick broke and he kept hitting my brother, drawing blood, but usually there were just red marks. The red marks faded and bruises and cuts healed, but the words echoed in my mind for years after the beating.

The words he used against me never left my mind. They’d slip into the background for awhile, but then I’d find myself using them to describe me. Then I became those words.

I was good-for-nothing.

I was selfish.

I was an idiot.

I was unlovable.

The words my parents used towards me hurt. They damaged me deeper and longer than any beating.

The words they used towards me began to scream at me from my own mind until they weren’t just my parents words, but mine as well.

The words ruined me. The words caused me to make bad choices. When you are worthless, who cares what you do?

I grew up, became an adult and got married to the wrong guy all because of the words that defined me. I wasn’t good enough to be treated better.

It was a difficult life.

That life eventually came crashing down around me and everything I knew and who I was, shattered into pieces.

God picked up all those pieces and put me back together, whole and healed from my past. He gave me new words to describe myself.

Smart.

Intelligent.

Selfless.

Good.

Worthy.

Priceless.

Cutting Is Hard To Do

I sent my book to the printer this morning. I started writing it last March and it will be in my hands by the end of May. This past year has been a roller coaster of emotions as I relived some difficult times in my past in the hopes that my story will help others get through their own stories.

Throughout this journey, I’ve learned a lot about myself as well as the writing process. One thing I learned is that not everything in the first draft makes it to the final print copy. I ended up cutting one of my favorite childhood memories from the final copy because it hindered the flow of the book.

I decided to share that story with you here:

“One time, after we finished our homework, we decided we wanted to go play in what my dad called “the fill.” It was a fenced off section, separate from the pasture that was filled with dirt. We loved taking shovels and buckets there to play. This particular day the cows were in the pasture that we had to cross to get to the fill. I chickened out, one of the cows scared me. She was red and white and had a calf. I knew she wasn’t nice to begin with and with a calf, she wouldn’t take kindly to us invading her pasture.

Stefyni and Keeth were braver than I was and decided to risk it. They carefully climbed through the barbed-wire fence in to her pasture. That mean old cow was right between them and the fill. They walked slowly, but deliberately towards the fill, angling away from the cow. It didn’t matter though. When they got even with her, she charged them. Stefyni and Keeth turned toward each other hugging and screaming. That cow ran up to them and head butted my sister right on her rear end. Then she went to the other side of them and did the same thing to my brother. That cow kept doing that over and over. I laughed so hard. I thought it was hilarious! I didn’t think she was actually hurting them, because just before she hit them, she’d stop running, so I thought the head butts were probably more like nudges. My sides hurt from laughing. It was one of the funniest scenes I have ever had the pleasure to watch.

When they finally got away from her, they were completely irate with me. “How come you didn’t help us?” Stefyni demanded.

I was laughing so hard I couldn’t answer her.

“It’s not funny!” She screamed at me.

I had tears streaming down my cheeks, it was so funny!

“Stop laughing!” they yelled in unison. Then they both stomped away from me to the house.

When my dad heard about what happened, I was in trouble. He called me to the kitchen, asked me my version of the events and lectured me about how I was idiotic and useless. Shit-for-brains was another name thrown around that day. When he told me to assume the position I had a hard time not laughing at the memory of my brother and sister huddled together in the middle of the pasture with a crazy cow charging them and stopping just short and hitting them in their backsides. Once the first hit landed though, all laughing stopped. Each smack, left red marks on my legs and tears in my eyes. I really didn’t understand what I did wrong. He said it was because I didn’t go with them or do anything to help. I just watched it happen.

My mom picked us up a little after that episode and grounded me for two weeks for not keeping them safe. Grounded meant that I couldn’t go outside to play with friends, no television and I could only go to church with her. At my dad’s house, besides being beat with the stick I was also grounded. At his house that meant that I had to stay in one of the empty bedrooms when I wasn’t doing homework.”

I know this is not one of my siblings favorite stories, they hate when I bring it up, but it still makes me laugh every time I remember it. Hope you enjoyed it to.

Sharing it here made the cutting not so hard to do.

Sneak Peak at My First Book

I’ve finished writing, editing and rewriting my first book.  The cover is being done by Geoff at Boomslang Studios and I’m formatting the book for ebook and print sales. It will be available for purchase in the next few weeks.  Here is an excerpt to whet your whistle and get you as ready to read it.

Here we go; Worthless No More excerpt…

“When I was six years old I realized my dad didn’t love me. It was the summer just after first grade when my parents separated my mom took the three of us and my older sister to live in a run-down triplex in a part of town known for being rough. As a child, I didn’t understand that it was my parents’ problem to solve. I firmly believed that if my dad loved my siblings and me, he would have worked things out with my mom and let us stay there. From that summer until halfway through sixth grade I wanted them back together, because I thought my dad would love me then. I was wrong, living with him didn’t change how he treated us.

At nine-years old I had pneumonia for the third time in about ten months. The doctor told my mom that she shouldn’t smoke in the house because it just made my illnesses more frequent. On the way home from the doctor that day my mom ranted. “Who the hell does that doctor think he is? Telling me where I can and cannot smoke! It’s my damn house and if I want to smoke inside my own house, I damn well will!” That was the moment I knew that my mom didn’t really love me.

In a word, I felt worthless. How could I feel any other way, when my own parents didn’t love me?”

 

Let me know what you think.

I will keep you all updated as to when the book will be available for purchase.

Healing Words

Words have the power to hurt and to heal. My life used to be defined by a set of words I learned from my parents:

Worthless

Good-for-nothing

Pointless

Problem

Heartless

It took my fragile life being dashed to pieces before I found the strength to learn new words.

When my ex-husband was arrested, I realized that my life up to that point had been controlled by others. Everything I experienced and every choice I had made was about keeping other people happy, despite that it all made me feel worse. I wanted my parents acceptance so badly, that I didn’t care how much I hurt myself, because when they loved me I would feel better.

I was wrong.

I began to feel better when I realized that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to make anyone, even my parents, love me. I am who I am and people need to accept me for me, not who they think I am or try to make me.

I learned, through many therapy sessions ad discussions with a pastor friend, that I am loved, I am treasured and I am priceless.

There is nobody on earth exactly like me. I am one of a kind, unique. I am amazing.

Slowly, those positive words began to fill my mind, replacing the negative ones.

The positive words have come to define me now. I cling to them. I teach them to my children and my students. I take chances. I make good choices. I refuse to allow people to be in my life who mistreat me.

The positive words have healed me and made me whole.

Have I forgotten about the negative words?

Absolutely not.

I remember daily how they made me feel and I do my best to make sure nobody else feels that way from the words I use.

I want to speak healing words into the lives of others so they can begin to see the power of positive words in their life.

Sticks and Stones, Blah, Blah, Blah

Source: Sticks and Stones, Blah, Blah, Blah

The Power of Your Words

This poor puppy thinks he’s a naughty boy, all puppies probably do with the words that most people use in the course of a day with a puppy. While the picture is cute, what it portrays, the power of words, is serious business.

I asked my son today to write down some words that make him feel happy and some that make him feel sad. All the words that make him happy are things he enjoys doing and he had to really think about it to come up with a list of four words.

His list of words that make him sad came quickly and they were all words that people have used to make fun of him. It made me sad to see how easily he remembered those words compared to the words that make him happy. I don’t want him to have the same low self worth that I had as a kid and allow those words to define him.

As a kid my parents were short on praise and long on criticism. They often let me know that I was a stupid, good-for- nothing, shit-for-brains idiot who wouldn’t make it in life.

I believed them.

I believed I was unlovable.

I believed I was stupid.

Annoying.

In the way.

The cause of all their problems.

Incompetent.

I was worthless.

I didn’t think I was good enough to be loved. Because of that I allowed people to mistreat me, after all I wasn’t good enough to be treated any better.

I felt worthless from childhood well into my adult life. All those negative words defined who I thought I was and how I allowed others to treat me.

The words I heard as a child echoed in my mind every time I tried to do something new, or better myself, or make a decision that would affect my life.

Stupid.

Lazy.

Idiot.

Selfish.

Cold-hearted.

Easy.

Worthless.

I hated my life growing up. I often thought of giving up, running away, or finding a new family.

I prayed for my parents to love me and treat me like I mattered to them.

I begged God to make them change how they saw me.

The words my parents used towards me changed me and made a negative impact on a huge part of my life.

Words are powerful!

Having Fun With Anxiety

Today’s post is a day later than usual. I would normally stress about that and stay awake worrying about the fact that I didn’t get everything done I needed to yesterday, but I didn’t. My son had a baseball game and I had a very busy day otherwise, so I decided the blog could wait one more day.

I have anxiety and unfortunately for my son, I passed it on to him. He has struggled with it since he was a toddler. It’s made life much more difficult for him than it needs to be, including having fun.

This picture is of him kneeboarding last summer. Its was huge! He has always enjoyed going out in the boat, but has never wanted to get out of the boat for any reason other than going home; not to swim, ride the intertube, or to kneeboard.

About two summers ago he decided he’d try swimming, he enjoyed it. Then last summer he decided to try the knee board. Getting to the point you see in the picture, him smiling, arms raised in triumph, was a long journey.

It was baby steps to say the least, float on the knee board. Hold the rope while floating. Turn the boat on. Let go of the rope and start from the beginning.

There were a lot of tears and “I  can’t” being said. It took multiple outings. It was frustrating for everyone, but when he was successful… Well you can see the smile in the picture.

He overcame one of his anxieties. It was an incredible afternoon. Not only did he have fun it taught him a few things about anxiety.

He is afraid of things because he imagines the worst possible outcome. He’s told me some things he imagines happening and it can rival a horror story. He has a vivid imagination. By learning to kneeboard he realized that what he imagines will happen usually won’t happen.

He also learned that it is possible to overcome an anxiety. He was afraid of something and did it anyway and was successful.

He learned that if you overcome something you are anxious about, it I possible to have fun.

For my son, learning to kneeboard was more than just achieving that skill. He learned so much more about his anxiety, how to overcome it and have fun doing it.

It is possible to have fun with anxiety when we are willing and able to.

Causes of Rape

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and everyone needs to know what causes rape:

RAPISTS

They are the only cause of rape. Being drunk, wearing revealing clothes, being alone, being female, or being flirtatious are not causes of rape.

Rape is not about the victim at all. It is 100% about the rapists need for power or control or to fulfill some dark urge that is better left alone.

According to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center, one in five women and one in 71 men will be the victims of sexual assault in their lifetime.

Many of these assaults go unreported because the victim is often blamed for the attack.

The victim is never at fault. Sexual assault is always the fault of the perpetrators.

Please believe the victim, don’t blame them.

Offer help and hope to those struggling with being sexually assaulted.

If you have been the victim of sexual assault and need someone to talk to please call the National Sexual Assault hotline at 877-995-5247 or visit their website at https://m.safehelpline.org/

Bad Parenting Results in A$$holes

Not all children who are a$$holes have bad parents, I know that. Some people are just born that way, but it is still the parent’s responsibility to teach their children not to act like the a$$holes they are.

There is a lot to be said about bullying, sometimes kids and parents may be extreme in what they believe bullying is, but whatever; it is real, it does exist and it can be stopped.

It’s not going to be stopped by telling the victim to:

Toughen up.

Quit being a target.

Just ignore them.

Stand up for yourself.

Tell them to stop.

You get the idea. Bullying won’t end by blaming the victim and telling them how to stop “asking for it”.

Growing up I was bullied by my parents, classmates, and boyfriends and I always thought it was my fault. If I was stronger, more assertive, smarter, dumber, whatever, then maybe I wouldn’t have been treated the way I was, but that was a lie.

They were bullies and it had nothing to do with me.

The way to stop bullying is to stop the bullies. Parents need to teach their kids that kind of behavior is unacceptable.

Earlier this month we had an issue with neighbor kids bullying my son. We finally spoke to one of the parents about it because of some other issues. The dad’s response was,  “kids will be kids.”

That’s a bullshit answer from a parent who doesn’t want to deal with teaching his son appropriate behavior and instead is raising an asshole.

We need to teach kids that everyone is special and unique and deserves respect because we are all humans trying to survive this life. I do my best to teach my children and my students exactly that, but all parents need to teach their kids to not be bullies.

We teach our toddlers not to hit, bite, punch, or take toys; why do so many seem to stop there? Many parents don’t teach just how dangerous words can be. Bruises fade and toys can be replaced, but emotions may never heal.

My nine year old son actually said to me, “why is he so upset over an accident, when what his son did to me was on purpose? You can fix a car, he can’t fix me.”

My nine year old is pretty insightful.

Let’s teach kids not to bully instead of teaching them to not be victims.

Don’t raise an asshole.

I’ve Been To My Happy Place and I slept

I was able to sleep this week, well most nights anyway. There was one night when my husband’s snoring kept waking me up, but at least it wasn’t wild thoughts racing through my mind or terrible dreams keeping me awake.

I slept and I feel so much better.

One thing that definitely helped me sleep was that my family and I went to our happy place, camping on the beach at Oceano Dunes. That picture up there is the view I had for an entire week from my bedroom window. Isn’t it beautiful?

For some reason, Anxiety just melts away at the beach. Maybe it’s like the wicked witch from Wizard of Oz and can’t handle water. Who knows.

Here is what I do know. School is out for another week and I get to relax at home with my kids. I pray that my Anxiety stays away now that it’s gone again. I want it to stay hidden wherever it ran away to while I was at the beach. It isn’t welcome here.

So, I got to spend time at my happy place, I got to sleep, and my Anxiety to a hike. It was a great week.