I AM Strength

 "In order to love who you are, you cannot hate the experiences that shaped you.” – Andrea Dykstra

TRIGGER WARNING: abuse, rape, trauma. This may not be easy to read for some. Also to note: I write this at a time in my life when I am truly happy, healthy and above all, grateful for everything my life has shown and taught me. 

Yesterday someone asked me what happened to me in my life to give me PTSD, panic attacks and anxiety. I also had another person comment, “You are one of the strongest people I know. You are a survivor.”

I think for anyone who wants to know the answers and reasons why all that is true, reading this might help. In short, I am a survivor, yes. I am strong because I have to be. I pay the price of anxiety, depression & PTSD because frankly, anyone who has been through what I have, would surely have all this and more to live with. And I understand that people who don’t know all of this and only experience me as a friend, a co-worker, and acquaintance, may not be able to wrap their head around why I have tough days and nights and why sometimes, I get triggered and need support, time alone, love. It’s not easy to write and certainly not easy to read. And, it’s true. It’s part of me, like it or not. 

And by no means is this about pity or an attempt to get anyone to feel sorry for me or come to my rescue. I am GOOD. I am strong. That is why I CAN write this now. I used to carry these wounds around my neck like an albatross and they weighed me down and for many years, they quite literally defined me. No longer. Now, I see them as stepping stones of my life's path and I needed to experience each one of them to bring me to this place. I can not wish them differently, to do so would be foolish. I choose to embrace it all, and be thankful for it all because ultimately, that is my own road to peace. 


Sharing this feels necessary and important because part of what gives me purpose in life is being an example of what is possible no matter what happens "to" us. And it just might give some insight into why I am so committed to gratitude. Because I have seen this much darkness, I recognize the light and I don’t take it for granted.


I survived being born into a deeply damaged, broken family with a dark and twisted history.

I survived my parents divorcing when I was three.

I survived moving over and over again as a child. New schools, always the outcast.


I survived other kids throwing rocks at me and calling me names.

I survived a speech impediment that had me work for two years with a therapist in order to be able to speak in a way that didn’t have me bullied and ridiculed daily.

I survived my mother’s depression and her erratic and unpredictable behavior with my sister and I as children.

I survived her anger and fierce whippings because we'd made a mess during the hours alone at home while she worked and went out.

I survived her suicide, on Valentine’s day, and finding her body the next morning. I was eight. 

I survived watching as they buried her in the ground, and no one even explaining to me what had happened.

I survived being kidnapped and taken out of state by family members just days after she died. 

I survived the adults around me fighting and threatening each other.

I survived losing most of what I had as a child in addition to my mother. My clothing, furniture, toys. All gone.

I survived being lied to over and over by the adults around me.  

I survived the adults in my life denying my experience, keeping things from me, using me.

I survived being molested by my uncle only months after my mother’s death. 

I survived holding that secret in my mind and heart for a decade. 

I survived my family making it out to be nothing when I finally had the courage to tell someone 10 years later.  

I survived my grandparents, who we lived with, drunk and screaming at each other while I sat between them, each of them yelling at me that the other was a drunk, all while I cried and begged them to stop.

I survived being beaten. With a belt, with a dog leash, with strong hands that lifted me off the ground with every blow.

I survived being ridiculed in grade school because my family was poor and my clothing was handmade.

I survived being told nearly every day by my family that I was fat and that even though I was pretty and talented I would never have a life unless I lost weight.

I survived my stepmother, who took photos of me then showed them to me and others, saying, “This is what fat looks like,” and who ridiculed me in front of my friends and my boyfriend about my weight. 

I survived her harsh and unrealistic rules, and lack of love.

I survived her taking my step sister and most of our furniture and belongings and leaving us one day while we were at school.

I survived my father being in a drug and alcohol induced haze for my sr. year, where he was rarely home or conscious. 

I survived him accusing me of being on drugs when I had the flu, and him shaking me and screaming at me. 

I survived him throwing me across the room once for having a friend over who was black. 

I survived horrible nightmares & terrors, panic attacks, and depression that haunted me through my childhood and adolescence, which continue even now.

I survived years of wanting to take my own life.

I survived being fed a steady diet of incredibly negative beliefs about life and people and the world by my father.

I survived being made fun of, stood up for dates, ridiculed, and used by people I thought were my friends.

I survived catching my father hiding to watch me undress when I was 15. 


I survived someone breaking into an office where I worked and slamming me into the wall then the police coming in with shot guns pointed at my head as I tried to explain what happened.

I survived a nasty fall that tore the ligaments and tendons in my foot during my sr. year of high school. 

I survived walking around on that torn foot for two days before I was taken to a doctor, because my grandparents were ignorant to the fact that I was truly injured. 

I survived the vice principal of my school making fun of me in front of my classmates, saying I was faking being hurt. 

I survived the gangreen that I got because of the botched job the small town doctor did when he put the cast on. 

I survived having a customer at one of my first jobs sexually assault me in broad daylight, during work.

I survived my first, second and third bosses making passes at me.

I survived gaslighting from all the adults in my life. 


I survived childhood and adolescence, never being told everything is going to be OK by anyone, ever.

I survived being groped and assaulted on a number of occasions throughout my childhood, teenage years and early adulthood from strangers and also people I knew.

I survived alcoholics and drug addicts all around me growing up. 

I survived them encouraging me from childhood to smoke a cigarette with them or take a swig from a bottle of vodka.

I survived my father going to prison when I was in high school for dealing drugs to my friends.

I survived my friends abandoning me, their parents forbidding them to talk to me, and my entire hometown turning against my family because of what my father did.

I survived my family taking the only money I had, a Social Security account of $10,000, a benefit from my mother’s death that was meant for my future, and giving it to my dad for his attorney fees.

I survived never getting that money back.

I survived attempted rape.

I survived eventually being raped. More than once.

I survived not being loved.

I survived being made fun of, bullied, ostracized, for a large part of my childhood and adolescence and early adulthood.

I survived one after another abusive relationships that I kept finding because I didn't yet know I had a choice and sought what was painful yet familiar.

I survived my father stealing money from me when I was working two jobs and going to school full-time just to survive.

I survived him laughing about it and making no apology when I discovered what he had done.

I survived my father threatening to murder me and my grandparents in our sleep, so that we had to hide the kitchen knives and one of us (usually me), stayed up to make sure he didn’t do it.

I survived many nights during the school year and summers where I would stay up until two or three in the morning, waiting for my father to get home to make sure he was OK and that our family would be safe with him in the house.

I survived countless days and nights of him in withdrawals from drugs and alcohol, hallucinating, breaking things, terrifying my family and me.

I survived the murder of my high school friend and the accidental deaths and suicides of other friends.

I survived being stood up by boys who then would make fun of me the next day at school or spread rumors that we had gone out and that I had slept with them.

I survived dates with others that ended up in me fighting them off and narrowly escaping being raped.

I survived my close friend’s parents deciding they could no longer talk to me because of my family. 

I survived my father punching me in the stomach because he was so high he didn’t recognize me.

I survived him telling me another time that I should meet his daughter, speaking to me as if we’d never met because he was hallucinating from drug withdrawals.

I survived my father shooting himself, in the bathtub, one afternoon while I was away at college.


I survived having to drop out of college to go back home and help care for him for three months, to teach him how to walk and talk again.

I survived seeing him beaten beyond recognition for a drug deal gone bad, in the hospital having crashed his car into a tree from a failed suicide attempt, and being found naked and unconscious in a pool of his own shit and vomit.

I survived using my own money to fly back-and-forth four different times to see him in the hospital and say goodbyes, assuming this time he succeeded in his desire to die.

I survived when he eventuality did succeed in ending his life through drugs and alcohol. 

I survived my husband’s infidelity, abuse and rage.

I survived divorce. 

I survived 10 years of single motherhood.

I survived an abusive second husband.

I survived being stalked and threatened for two years by a dangerous and very abusive ex. 

I survived worrying if he might show up and kill me and my child. 

I survived the loss of friendships because people were afraid to be around me.

I survived police and judges talking to me and looking at me as if it were all my fault and I somehow deserved it.

I survived an eating disorder.

I survived the loss of many people I have loved.

I survived having to make one of the most gut-wrenching decisions a mother can make: to choose to end the suffering of the baby I carried when I discovered quite abruptly at 20 weeks that she would not live to term. 

I survived the death of my baby girl, Una, the surgeries, and the horrific aftermath that my wrecked body had to go through while my heart was shattered into a million pieces.

I survived callous and insensitive doctors who treated us both like things as she drew her last breath in utero.

I survived people telling me I should be over it 2 months after I lost her.

I survived close friends walking away and not coming back because they didn’t know how to be with someone who had a baby die. 

I survived three more pregnancy losses + three D&Cs, and eventually reconstructive surgery to allow me to have my son.

I survived a high-risk pregnancy where I spent half of it in and out of the hospital and on bed rest, always on the verge of losing my baby.

I survived miscarrying a twin half way through it, on our anniversary. 

I survived bringing my son into the world with a room full of specialists because they weren’t sure he’d be OK. 

I survived a painful infection from my cesarean, and bleeding breasts because things just didn’t go well. 

I survived injuries, a broken foot, hip surgery, hernia surgery, and chronic pain that I have lived with for 30 years.

I survived a concussion that caused me close to two years of memory issues, vertigo and pain.

I actually survived much more than this, the list in reality is much longer. For most of my life I’ve hated when people said to me, “You are so strong”, and remark that I have survived so much.... I see a combination of awe, pity and relief in their eyes that tells me they are amazed, and also so glad it’s not them. 
If my pain makes you uncomfortable, I can’t apologize for that. I won’t be quiet. I don’t wear my history as an open wound but I do honor where I've come from and frankly, the wounds and scars of my life are not nearly as important as the growth they have made possible.


I used to cringe when people said I’m strong. I felt anger because frankly I don’t want to have to be so strong. But I am. And now, I’m learning to embrace it because the truth is, I’m a fucking warrior. I know I am one of many. This is my own personal journey and I have never honored it in this way. I am writing a memoir and the full story of much of this is in it. Now, at 52 years old, I am proud to have endured and chosen to love life anyway, to love people anyway, to find gratitude and joy anyway. I choose it. The events listed above and all the points along my life's path, much like the lines and scars on my body, are a roadmap of my life. I love it because it brought me to this moment now. I'm so thankful I survived.


I survived because I chose to.

Me. 

I did it.

I am enough.

I am BOLD.

I am a fierce fucking Phoenix. 

I AM strength. 


And…. There are many gifts that have come from this. I am a force of creativity, empathy, love, gratitude and compassion. I have seen the darkest of the dark. It only makes me love the light that much more. 









Comments

  1. I am grateful you are here and accept the force that you are

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