Breaking up with your yoga teacher – part 2

Tags

2 William Street Balaclava, Abuse, Anxiety, arrogant, ass, assume, breaking up, Bullying, detachment, humiliated, Louise Goodvach, Melbourne, reactive, rebuked, Shadow Yoga, shit-palooza, Stress, vairagya, Yoga Moves, yoga teacher abuse, yoga teaching, zero tolerance

Click on the photo to read Yoga Dawg’s brilliant rap/poem/song!

[Read part 1 first]

Act II: After-words

So that same night and before I’d even made it home, I sent her this email:

I am sorry to walk out of your class but I was feeling very angry and it seemed to be the least disruptive thing I could do right then.

I feel that you judge me very harshly. Your assumption that I have been trying to tell people what to do in your class is incorrect. Perhaps it’s the tone of my voice, but I am usually attempting to confirm something for myself rather than tell anyone else what to do.

At the beginning of the class you spoke of never really knowing what the cause of various things are. Yet you are so certain of my motivations that you chose to embarrass me in front of everyone.

That is what I found so incredible.

Perhaps you don’t think much of my previous training or my current abilities but I am only ever attempting to improve my own practice. Generally I tend to speak a lot and it’s something I continue to work on. But my verbalizing of my own thoughts on things is not ever meant to be instruction to others.

I am sorry if you thought otherwise, but I find myself very upset at your treatment of me this evening.

Unfortunately, I was in shock and I was stressed. My body has lost its ability to handle sudden stresses like that. So I didn’t sleep well that night and the next day… well, I wrote about it here.

It sucked. That part isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m doing everything I can do heal my body and mind but there’s stuff that just isn’t resolved yet.

Hello? And once again WTF?

I wasn’t sure if I was going to hear back from her at all, which of course added to my stress. Even though my mind was cool with things, my body wasn’t.

Sometime on Friday I got a reply, if you can call it that. It was just a single sentence:

See you next week.

Oh really?!!

That pretty much resolved my will I/wont I go back dilemma. So I wrote two lines back in response:

No you won’t. I won’t be returning to your classes.

I have better things to do with my time than be abused in a yoga class.

Say what you like about my own reactiveness, but I think her behaviour was both abusive and completely unnecessary.

Then, after reading (or perhaps dismissing?) my email, she did not acknowledge what happened or make even the tiniest of apologies. In fact, she blew me off. As far as I’m concerned, that’s both arrogant and a pretty poor business decision.

In the past I’ve recommended this studio to other people. On this blog, I’ve actively written about my experiences with and love of Shadow Yoga. I’ve been nothing but positive and supportive of this yoga studio and have never had any negative interactions with anyone there ever before.

Her reply to mine?

Take good care of yourself.

And with that we were done. No longer was she my yoga teacher.

[Full disclosure: I might’ve also sent her an email after that one telling her that I think she kind of sucks, and that I hope she one day learns to apply what she teachers to the way she treats people – harsh but ultimately not unreasonable, I think.]

In itself, that’s not a big deal. I’m not emotionally attached to her or to the studio, and I sure as hell didn’t have her up on a pedestal (been there, done that before).

I do love Shadow Yoga, and I’ll continue to develop my home practice. There’s a couple of other studios here in Melbourne that teach it, but they’re not terribly close to where I live. And unfortunately, when the founders of Shadow Yoga come to Melbourne, they teach out of her studio. Bummer.

Detachment doesn’t mean being a cold hard biatch

If you’ve been doing yoga for a while, you might’ve heard about “detachment” (vairagya), which is much misunderstood aspect of yogic philosophy.

Non-attachment is not suppression: Non-attachment is not a mere personality trait that one practices in dealing with the other people of the world. It is very easy to fool oneself into thinking that non-attachment is being practiced when what is really happening is pretending to be non-attached.
http://www.swamij.com/yoga-sutras-11216.htm

When abusing me in class, my now ex-yoga teacher was mean, unpleasant and VERY reactive. Afterwards, she was all icy-coldness and hey, maybe in her mind that’s what she considers detachment to be (once again, an assumption on my part – I have no idea what she thinks).

But detachment doesn’t mean that you don’t care, or that you don’t have feelings. It just means that you don’t self-identify with them, and you’re not invested in the outcome of a situation.

IF she’d really wanted me to come back to classes, a simple apology would have made all the difference, but that sort of thing should not have to be prompted.

Unless of course, her plan all along was to have me leave?

Keep your integrity close and your humility even closer

We all make mistakes. We all do things we kick ourselves for later (heck, I know I do!). But if our actions have upset someone, no matter what we think of the situation it’s generally good practice to apologise.

For me, that’s a part of being a good teacher and it’s something I’ve always admired about my own Guru.

As he unfolds his own spiritual development ever further, he’ll say things like: Previously I thought this was true, but now I know X, Y and Z. What I told you before was incorrect.

It’s perfectly okay to admit to mistakes, but of course you need humility for that. The more, the better.

And speaking of detachment, I know of no one with better mastery of it than my Guru. And yet he is warm. He will hug people. He’ll laugh, he’ll dance, drink, show anger and if he sees it’s required, he’ll apologise. He’s an awesome role model like that.

There’s nothing in this life that’s not a part of the whole. Nothing.

And if you recognise that you’ve made a mistake, then WOMAN-UP and apologise (shout out to Lo for that phrase!).

Be humble. Being a yoga teacher doesn’t mean that you’re always right.

Act III: Bottom line

I’m grateful for what I’ve learned, and I still love Shadow Yoga and will continue my practice. Just not at the studio of someone who won’t even acknowledge what happened or talk to me about it.

Perhaps I won’t learn as quickly as I might by attending regular classes but thems the breaks.

Change is the only constant

Another of my friends, Linda, reminded me:

It’s not always a bad thing to be betrayed. Many times it happens when we need to move on from a person, place. And of course happens with people we are close to so that’s why it hurts more. Betrayal is not necessarily “bad energy” because it’s “good” for change.

In my grand crazy plan for my future, there were only a couple of things making me hesitate about leaving Melbourne again (eventually). There’s my sister and nieces, and my Shadow Yoga practice being tied to this particular yoga studio.

I’ll always have my sister and nieces, even if I’m far away. And I’ll always have what I know of Shadow Yoga. Who knows? I might even move to a place where I can study with another teacher some day.

But I sure as heck don’t have to accept abuse in order to learn. No one does.

~Svasti

(Also, big thanks to CK, Nancy, Rachel, Cherie, Kimberly (as well as Lo and Linda) for their real-time support on Twitter while I worked through this shit-palooza!)

**September 2013 update: Ummmm, dear judgey and outraged people reading this post and deciding that I’m being ridiculous. A few things:

1. This post was written well over three years ago. So, y’know, as you can imagine, I’ve moved on since then.

2. I am entitled to my feelings and experiences. This is my blog. So coming here and psychoanalyzing me and telling me I’m wrong? Ermmm, HOW WOULD YOU KNOW? Coz you don’t know.

3. Unless you are me or the teacher in question, you’ve got no right to interpret the situation.

4. See point #1. This is O-V-E-R. Yeah, it’s an historical piece of writing on my blog. Get over it and go out and live your live. Be happy. I sure am!**

Breaking up with your yoga teacher – part 1

Tags

2 William Street Balaclava, Abuse, Anxiety, ass, assume, breaking up, Bullying, humiliated, Louise Goodvach, Melbourne, rebuked, Shadow Yoga, Stress, Yoga Moves, yoga teacher abuse, yoga teaching, zero tolerance

The silent observer…

Act I: Unrequited and un-required abuse

Say you’ve been going to the same yoga classes and the same studio for around eighteen months. It’s a place you love, feel comfortable at and enjoy frequenting. It’s become your “yoga home” and you feel invigorated by what you’re learning.

This feeling of a home away from home is comprised of a few things: the yoga you’re learning, the vibe of the studio and the teachers you’re learning from.

So what happens if one day for no reason you can be certain of, everything changes?

The smack down

What happens if you’re in class and you ask a question (the first one you’ve asked that session), only for that question to be radically misinterpreted by your yoga teacher? You ask, but your phrasing is off. Instead of, “So how do you do this pose properly…?” you say, “So you do it like this, right?”.

Perhaps the end of the question wasn’t heard. Perhaps it was, and she just didn’t like your tone. Bit hard to say really. But suddenly you’re on the end of a rather nasty and public (class of 20+ people) dressing down.

It’s different for everyone. Until you can do it, you shouldn’t try to tell others what to do.

Okay, but that wasn’t my intention…

You’ve done it before you know.

You have?!? You bite your tongue and keep going, but combined with this little diatribe and your general sense of left-right confusion you end up doing the next pose on the wrong leg. Your yoga teacher reprimands you sharply for doing so. You laugh it off and go to swap legs but are still having a little moment of “which leg forward”, when she continues her previous (and loud) rebuke:

You really shouldn’t say anything at all until you can get it right.

At which point, feeling entirely misunderstood, unfairly rebuked, mightily pissed off, and somewhat humiliated at being verbally abused in a freakin’ yoga class – you choose to walk out.

Why? Well why the hell not? Why should you stay and continue to take instructions from someone who’s just (verbally) taken a big stick and thwacked you over the head with it?

As you go to leave, more attempted humiliation: (loudly) No [insert name], don’t do that…

But you do leave because, excuse me? This is meant to be a yoga class. You’re not ten years old and you haven’t just painted the cat purple. In fact, the yoga teacher has unfairly jumped to conclusions and punished you in front of the rest of the class.

For realz?

Yep! This is what happened to me last week at the Shadow Yoga school I’ve been a faithful patron of since October 2009.

My first thought as I left: “Well, that’s a shame”.

I was trying to work out if I would/could/should consider returning to the classes at all. Or if not to that teacher’s classes (who is also the studio owner), then to other classes there.

I sat outside the class for a bit, focusing on my breathing and probably looking something this (but less furry):

A somewhat confused yogi – adapted from: http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/Yoga%20Yogi_95284

I went for a walk to calm down. I ordered some food. And I tried to make sense of my Wednesday night.

Nobody’s perfect

Perhaps she was having a bad night? Maybe I was? I mean, on the way to class that night I couldn’t shake the nagging bundle of nervous anxiety in my belly.

And maybe she didn’t hear the end of my question? Who knows? But WHY on earth would you talk to someone like that, no matter what the circumstances? It seemed highly reactive and downright mean.

Heck, if I was having problems with a student (or anyone) I’d talk to them privately, and I don’t think I’d ever publicly rebuke anyone like that unless someone’s health or life was in danger.

And despite her assertion that I’d “done it before”, this was the first time I’d been made aware that she thought that. Not once in all the time I practiced there was it pointed out that I was supposedly doing something “wrong”.

But the reality is that I wasn’t doing what she thought I was doing. When I attempted to say so I was cut short, and then I was rebuked again, and one final verbal kick in the ass when I chose to leave.

Incidentally: this is the very first time I’ve ever walked out of a yoga class in over ten years of doing all kinds of yoga!

A little background

Just a couple of weeks beforehand; this same yoga teacher told me that I “had to choose”. When I asked her what she meant, she told me that I shouldn’t do Shadow Yoga and any style of yoga because “it will be confusing for my body”.

Not that she’s ever said so explicitly, but these are impressions (possibly incorrect but it’s a feeling) I’ve gathered from her:

• She doesn’t think much of my previous training
• She’s convinced that Shadow Yoga is THE only yoga people should be doing
• She doesn’t think I should be teaching because I really don’t have Shadow Yoga down at all

I could be wrong about any/all of the above, but her attitude and general snippiness towards me in certain situations have created this impression.

She asked what I was teaching, and I explained that I teach foundation yoga for beginners – which is all about the basics of body movement etc. I suggested there’s a place for other forms of Hatha yoga that aren’t Shadow Yoga and that not everyone wants a strong practice like Shadow Yoga.

She also asked about my teacher, so I explained my background with my guru as well as my teacher training. I said I’d send her links to information about him and she said she’d like that. When I sent her the URLs, I didn’t get a “thank you” email or any kind of acknowledgement at all.

The very next week was last week, when I walked out of her class. Were these incidents related? Hard to say but I have to wonder, right?

Perhaps she decided to “choose” for me, and manufactured the whole thing? I won’t jump to conclusions and assume that’s the truth, but I’m just sayin’…

Implied intimacy and trust

For me, being in a yoga class is very personal. I’ve found this both as a student as well as a fledgling teacher. There’s a whole bunch of intimacy going on.

As a yoga teacher, you’re instructing people how to move their body and when to breath. You’re working with your student’s fears as well as their monkey mind. In my limited teaching experience to date, I feel very much that teaching is a service. I’m not there to be a schoolmarm and demand obedience – instead I’m trying to get people to explore, feel, experience, sense.

As a student, I am trusting my yoga teacher to be a good person. A helpful person. Someone who is kind and considerate – at least while the class is in session. In a yoga class I open myself up and I am vulnerable physically, mentally, emotionally and energetically. I am shrugging off my baggage as best as I can and leaving it at the door. I am trusting you to be careful with me while I follow your lead.

In my books, it’s absolutely unconscionable to use your position as a yoga teacher to smack down one of your students.

You don’t have to take anybody else’s shit, no matter who they are

These days, I have a zero tolerance approach towards bullying and abuse.

I was both surprised and pleased to observe my very healthy boundaries when it came to dealing with her crap. It hasn’t always been like that, y’see.

Something my Guru has always said to his students is this: You don’t have to accept anyone else’s trip.

Look Guruji, I totally DIDN’T! 😀

Assume makes an ASS out of U and ME

I don’t know for sure what was in her mind any more than she knows what was in mine. Based on her reaction and what she said, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what she meant.

But she assumed my motives were different than they were. She didn’t check in with me to find out what I was saying, she just jumped right in.

Dear ex-yoga teacher of mine: you behaved like an ass.

[Read part 2]

~ Svasti

**September 2013 update: Ummmm, dear judgey and outraged people reading this post and deciding that I’m being ridiculous. A few things:

1. This post was written well over three years ago. So, y’know, as you can imagine, I’ve moved on since then.

2. I am entitled to my feelings and experiences. This is my blog. So coming here and psychoanalyzing me and telling me I’m wrong? Ermmm, HOW WOULD YOU KNOW? Coz you don’t know.

3. Unless you are me or the teacher in question, you’ve got no right to interpret the situation.

4. See point #1. This is O-V-E-R. Yeah, it’s an historical piece of writing on my blog. Get over it and go out and live your live. Be happy. I sure am!**

Judith’s story

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Assault, Depression, Fear, Healing, Judith's story, Netherlands, Post-traumatic stress, Proposition 8, PTSD, Rage, Recovery, Trauma, Trust, Violence

I’m both in awe and kinda in mourning after reading Judith’s story.

**Note: If you’re in any way feeling fragile or likely to be triggered by reading of extreme violence and/or viewing VERY graphic photos, it’s best not to click on the above link**

Judith recently left a comment on one of my earlier posts so I checked out the Willothewisp blog that she and her wife run, (Prop 8 supporters take note: gay marriage has been legal in the Netherlands for years!) and from there found the link to her horrific, utterly terrifying story of sexual and physical assault.

As if the assault wasn’t bad enough, Judith went through months and months of recovery, surgery and rehabilitation that sounds like ongoing torture. Add living with post-traumatic stress, depression and the inability to move or talk for the longest time… and we’re talking about a truly serious survivor.

It’s a rough read, very emotional and heartbreaking. Once again – don’t read her story unless you’re in a stable frame of mind.

There’s ten chapters to date, and the story isn’t fully told yet. And it’s taken me a while to make my way through each one.

Judith’s lucky to be alive, although given what she went through I’m sure she didn’t feel lucky for the longest time. Her body is scarred, she lost her hearing, and she had to learn to speak and walk again.

Any one of these issues would be tough enough to handle. But Judith has triumphed through them all.

More than that – she’s married and she and her wife have three children. She has made a life despite what she’s been through. Through her words, I sense a very determined lady!

I can’t wait to read more and see how it was she made it to the life she now leads. I’m sure the past is still not 100% buried, but she is not cowering in the corner away from the world.

She’s a mother and a writer and living her life bravely.

So Judith, here’s to you. Much respect.

~Svasti

Response to BlissChick – part 1

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Confusion, Depression, Family, Fear, Rant, Relationships, Surrender, Trust

In case you missed it, my world was well and truly rocked by BlissChick’s incredible post on depression, and some of her subsequent posts…

So here’s sort of an abridged version of her post (in italics), and my replies…

…People on anti-depressants are, from my own experience of them, still sad. Why? …Because they are putting a band aid on a broken limb…

I’ve never considered medication seriously, and the question has only been put to me once.

I understand there may be short term relief, but like you, I think it’s not something that ever fixes anything. So, I’m not interested in that path. Sure, it means things might be a little rougher for me, but I’m willing to tough it out.

…our souls are made of stories… They must be integrated into your essence or they will always be there. No amount of positive thinking will get rid of them. No amount of medication, eating “right,” supplements, herbals, or exercise… you will react because of them; you will be their slave…

I can see the truth this statement. Oh yes.

When I started writing my blog, I thought I was just writing about being assaulted. But what I learned along the way is, I’m actually writing about everything in my life that led up to that one fateful night.

Fateful, because it was a turning point, even if I didn’t start doing anything about it for almost three years.

…( (Honesty + Witness) + (Compassion + Patience) ) x Commitment

The hardest part of this formula is the first variable: Honesty about our stories.

We do everything we can to avoid this. We try to gloss over our stories… The first question to ask yourself is this: Who are you trying to protect by not being honest and why are you going to such lengths to protect them?

I was protecting both my parents, trying so hard to be who they needed me to be …a parent or both parents are exactly who most people are trying to protect…

I’ve really, really shied away from looking at my parents as neglectful. The physical abuse came from my brother, but it was ignored. And my parents were, and remain busy with their own emotional issues. It’s been that way for pretty much my whole life.

I haven’t wanted to admit these things so openly. I’ve wanted to accept them as they are and do what I can to compensate, because it’s cleaner, simpler. Because I know they won’t change. And because there’s nothing to be gained from blaming them for how they are.

…Regardless of someone else’s past, they were cruel to you. YOU were the child. YOU had the right to be the child. Your parents were not and are not your responsibility…

The crucial part, the part I’ve protected the most, has been to avoid admitting my parents were kind of shitty at their parenting job. I still have trouble with that.

I feel like, as a grown up, I should just take responsibility for myself and be done with it.

But perhaps that’s the point – how can the adult truly take responsibility when their inner child is having trouble being heard?

…Trying to understand your abuser is a classic psychological survival method… Your mind has to try to understand why this person is treating you this way, so you start to feel badly for them…

I recognise this. I do. My brother. My mother. My father. I never understood. I still don’t. And I feel bad I can’t be part of the “let’s all be close and loving” fantasy family relationship. I can’t be the “friend” my mother wants, either, especially considering she’s still self-centred and not interested in whatever I might be going through…

Every time my dad loudly has a conversation in front of me with my brother-in-law, about the importance of family (the same one on repeat), I want to be sick. Because he says those things and I KNOW he’s really chastising me indirectly for not being in touch a lot.

But heck, here I am on the brink of bankruptcy and where are they? NOWHERE.

When I was assaulted and hurting and hiding for years… THEY DID NOTHING.

What did they do when I complained again and again and again about my brother hitting me? MADE HIM APOLOGISE EACH TIME BUT NEVER STOPPED IT.

There’s more, much more. YES, they were neglectful and unsupportive parents. YES THEY WERE!!

And YES! I DO feel badly for them. I know they both had unhappy childhoods. I know my mother’s father was an alcoholic and her mother was controlling and manipulative. And that my father’s mother was the most self-centred person I’ve ever met. And my father’s father was adopted and emotionally vacant.

I expect less from them as a result. And yet, if ever I am blessed with children, I know I’d do whatever I can to make sure they feel loved and adored.

…You must be heard and seen… As an adult going through your stories and trying to order them and integrate them, a witness is the person who will give you that “real” feeling…

My witness, of course, has been Marcy. But I have also been graced with others…

Unfortunately I don’t have a ‘Marcy’ in my life. Instead, I write. And write, and write, so I can breathe.

But, those stories are slowly coming out on my blog. Which makes my blog readers my witnesses, I guess (hope you folks don’t mind!).

So witness this: I feel crappy about writing this stuff, like I’m betraying my family. Making a mountain out of a mole hill. It feels wrong and childish to sit here and write about things that have hurt my feelings over so many years and that, truth be told, still hurts my feelings.

And I’m not even half-way done yet! Not even close… however, I don’t know if it’s all for public consumption. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Read part 2…

~Svasti

Human violence

Tags

Abuse, Assault, GO! Smell The Flowers, Human rights, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Violence, Violence against women

Over at the irrepressible Go! Smell The Flowers blog, one of the regular contributors “Aussie Cynic” (aka A/C aka Kesa) has written a post titled “Go On! Speak Out!“.

The topic is International Human Rights Day and International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.

Something kinda close to my heart.

A/C asked some questions at the end of her impassioned post… True to form, in response I wrote a small essay in the comments, and I asked A/C if it’d be cool if reproduced those comments here.

Note: I’ve cleaned it up a little (and fixed the typos).

Without further ado, here’s my long and rambling response…

****

Violence against women… well, one particular woman – me – is the very reason my blog was born.

It’s my creative outlet for all of the pain, terror, trauma, repression, depression and post-traumatic stress I’ve been dealt as a result of someone’s inability to control themselves one night just over three years ago.

So the topic of violence (and like Gareth rightly pointed out, not just male against female violence, but I’d also add in same gender violence too for that matter) is one I’ve been particularly close to for some time.

Why is Violence and Abuse allowed to continue?

I don’t think it’s a case of violence and abuse being allowed to continue. It happens because human nature is as it is. Within us all is the fight or flight mechanism.

For those people without enough maturity and awareness – physical, mental and emotional abuse are ways those people feel more in control, less fearful. And sadly it becomes a pattern for them, a way of coping with whatever is thrown in their direction.

Why we must put up with such disgusting behaviour?

We don’t have to put up with this behaviour.

He only got one shot at me, just that one night – the next day I put a protection order in place. But the internal damage had already set in. There’s been a huge toll in the rebuilding from that time.

And let me say (in case you hadn’t already guessed) that I’m not one of those lay down and take it types. I’ve fought for my healing really hard and I’ve been incredibly surprised at how long it’s taken to regain a certain level of emotional balance.

I never thought PTSD could happen as a result of an incident like mine. I thought it happened to people who’d lived through a war or a major disaster. But, clearly that’s not the case. PTSD is a very real and frightening phenomena… and it’s pretty friggin rough on the body, mind and soul.

Cruelly, the balance I’d achieved after three long years has been thrown out of whack only very recently, with another repressed memory surfacing and dragging everything I thought I’d dealt with back to the surface. More PTSD: unexpected, unwelcome, unwanted. There’s no warning. It comes when it comes.

It’s been incredibly humbling and painful to realise it’s not all over yet. Not that I thought it was all completely over – I know I have major trust issues with men – but I thought I was through the worst of emotional/mental trauma and turmoil.

My brain is only just recovering from the very ‘jelly-like’ state that a PTSD episode turns it into.

And I’m back seeing my very helpful therapist.

But none of it makes sense and everything – I mean everything – hurts. The panic attacks that go with those episodes? Have to be felt to be believed. After months of freedom from this itchy scalp condition I had for years, it’s returned overnight (fear, panic, anxiety, trauma causing physical reactions).

Why as women do we not stand up and say NO MORE!

Women can and do say no – but its really cultural conditioning enmasse that people must work to change. Before I was assaulted, I could’ve never understood the impact such a thing can have on someone’s life.

I’m guessing that’s the case for a whole lot of other people in the world too. They are complacent via ignorance – that sort of violence has never touched their lives and they can’t imagine why its important to really instil in their children the supreme wrongness of it all.

Why do women suffer in silence too scared to speak out?

Good question… I’m a smart, sassy, independent woman with a great career in the digital arena. Before this, I never ever considered something like this could happen to me. Until it did. And people can tell you “its not your fault” a million times, but there’s a huge degree of shame and fear that goes along with this sort of experience.

Shame – How could this happen to me? Why didn’t I know better? How is it I couldn’t see what he was like (and believe me, he showed no signs of being a violent type before this one night)?

Fear – I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I don’t want them to judge me as weak. I don’t want to be taken advantage of (there are people who pray on those in a vulnerable state). I don’t want to be looked upon as ‘different’ for what happened to me.

Why do we allow those committing Abuse to continue to do so?

The police… the night I was assaulted, were exceptionally unhelpful. I guess they’ve got so much going on, so many ‘worse’ things to deal with… and they’re under-staffed.

Yet we rely on our police force to manage law and order. But violence like this is not considered enough of a problem to send a police car out to comfort someone who’s been severely traumatised and go arrest the bastard who did it.

The night I was assaulted, many people would have heard my screams for help but no help came. And, very few people in my life have had enough courage, emotional fortitude and good old fashioned compassion to deal with the emotional aftermath that night has wrought in my life.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m being dramatic or over-stating what happened. I hope I haven’t. I’ve had to be very careful about who I tell these things to – and for whatever reason it’s been so much easier to do in the anonymous environs of a blog. I’ve gained more support from people who don’t know me than from most of the people that do.

Why if we know something is going on do we choose to ignore it?

I think as CC said, many people don’t want to look, lest they see something that reminds them of their own fears and/or mortality.

I don’t judge them for that; I simply understand that not everyone is equipped that way.

I continue to talk to those who can listen and understand. And I continue my healing process, damn determined this will not cast a shadow over my life any longer than absolutely necessary.

******

And then my follow up reply…

Hugs are more than welcome. Its one of the things I’ve missed like crazy – too afraid to get close to men in my life, but at the same time desperately wanting (safe) male hugs. I just haven’t been able to do it – well, I have recently just begun that process (reaching out to male friends I think I can trust), but its tough.

PTSD… what a fucking sick joke that is! I think it was easier to deal with when I was experiencing it more frequently. Because I’ve been free of such episodes for months… its hit much harder. Might have been easier to get hit with a concrete baseball bat than this!

No, Andre was never charged. I did get a very long protection order in place though, and I took action in other ways – letting his ex (with whom he has kids) know what happened, and the place I met him (where he used to work as a musician), I told them too. They were pretty unhappy about it, because they want their patrons to be safe. So I think I did him out of a job at that venue anyway…

Of course what happened is not my fault. Logically I know that. But it’s not so easy to believe. And I get it – you know, how weak he is, how much pain and fear he must be living with to act in that way. I know from talking to his ex that I was not the first person he’s assaulted.

And I learned in therapy that often, men with violent tendencies are exceptionally good at hiding that side of their personalities.

So I know all of that, but still, some of my anger is reserved for me. And I haven’t forgiven myself yet, not properly… no matter what I know logically and reasonably. It’s just not that simple. Wish it was!!

But I keep up the good fight. The ongoing attempts at self-acceptance. And finally it seems, I’ve been able to let out all of the murderous rage I’ve been feeling that I never felt at the time… because I was too fearful and sad and concerned with making sure I got out of that situation in one piece.

So it seems that recently I’d processed enough that my sub-conscious said okay, she’s doing well enough – let’s send out the next wave of stuff to be dealt with.

And that’s what I’m in the middle of right now. It is getting better and continues to do so.

~Svasti

P.S. I should add, that today as I write this… things are getting better. They are. Day by day. Hugs and kisses to everyone who’s been so wonderful to me in this time. xoxo

Child-like wisdom – part 1

Tags

Abuse, Assault, Castle, Child, Love, Raunchy, Scotch, Self-conscious, Verbal abuse, Wisdom

Like a fairytale covered with pixie dust, I was engaged. He proposed in a castle near Wales. I was just 24.

I’d been flown to the UK as a surprise to share the end of my boyfriend’s three month jaunt, planned with his mate before we’d met.

How does it happen that one day you meet a stranger for the first time and feel a ridiculously powerful connection?

Okay, so we didn’t end up together – we never made it down the aisle. But whilst it worked, we fired on all cylinders. It was magic. It was something.

Possibly the strength of our bond is what allowed him to talk me into doing something I never thought I’d ever do.

It was during one of the endless and expensive calls we had whilst he was gallivanting all over the UK. At first he said he’d ring me once a week because of the cost. But that seemed unlikely when he called me the very next day. And the day after that. And the day… well, you get the picture.

I miss you he said. Every day. Our phone calls were long and beautiful, discussing you know – everything.

Send me some raunchy photos to keep me company he begged. Although he couldn’t see how much I was blushing, he soon heard all about it.

He knew, ofcourse, of my body issues. I’m too tall, I’m not delicate, and I’m not waif thin. I’m not pretty. So said the negative internal voices – thanks, brother.

For many years I was my older brother’s physical and verbal punching bag. Mum went back to work once we reached a certain age. From the time I started high school, there was always a good hour or so before any parental figure showed up. Time my brother – a very angry person for reasons unknown – used to full advantage.

To bait me, to hurl threats and insults against the way I looked and my intelligence, to smack me around as he saw fit. It’s something that for the most part, I’ve moved past now, thankfully.

When someone tells you every single day of your life how ugly/stupid/fat etc you are, it sinks in. Throw enough mud…

Of my brother’s “conditioning”, the hardest part to overcome were insults about my looks. I knew I was more intelligent than him – that was easy to see. But I never drew much male attention, so I bought the rest hook, line and sinker.

A remaining side effect to this day is that I can’t look in a mirror or at a photo of myself, and see what other people see.

So as you can imagine, my boyfriend/soon-to-be-fiancé had asked me to do something that was anti every instinct I had. I was supremely self-conscious about my physical appearance.

However, I was madly in love and I really wanted to be able to do this for the man I loved.

I recruited one of my closest friends who had some skill as a photographer AND would be cool about the request. Giggling, we planned the ‘photo shoot’, working some alcohol, pizza and chocolate into the equation.

My ultra-tiny one bedroom unit was transformed. The sofa was pushed into the kitchen. A sheet was taped to the wall and props came out – sheepskin rugs, elaborate cushions etc. And costumes – there were several changes of scanty clothing to consider. I’m nothing if not creative!

A fine scotch lubricated proceedings. We turned on some music and um, got started…

Unexpectedly, it was a blast. Initially I felt strange being half naked with my friend B taking pictures. But with each costume change and more alcohol we were increasingly amused.

I was terrified about getting them developed. B took care of that for me and left me in peace to peek at the results. Drink in hand, deep breath, and I opened the packet.

~~~~~~~~~ To be continued…

~Svasti

Book review: My Story by Dave Pelzer

Tags

Abuse, Assault, Child Abuse, Dave Pelzer, Recovery, Reviews, Starvation

I’m really freakin’ cranky today. I’ve had this cold for the past week and now I’m losing my patience.

My voice sounds like fingernails against chalkboard (when you can actually hear it), my left ear has blocked up and my hacking coughs produce either large wads of gooey phlegm or hard, nasty pieces that were probably once caked on to the inside of my lungs.

So I’m not feeling that well. I’ve been gargling, cleansing my sinuses (thanks neti pot!) and drinking enormous amounts of fluids and I’m sloooowly getting better. Grrr.

Anyhow, I digress. I’m taking a leaf out of Shiv’s blog and posting a book review. Not that I plan to make a habit of it, its just that this particular book really affected me.

The book is actually an amalgam of three books into one larger one. “My Story” by Dave Pelzer is a heartbreakingly painful story of a derranged, alcoholic mother who singles out one of her sons – Dave – for outrageously cruel and almost fatal treatment from the ages of around five to twelve, when he was finally made a ward of the state.

The first book (A Child Called It) details his life of pain, suffering, humiliation and degredation by his mother. She starved him and beat him. She made him sleep in the garage and work as a slave for the rest of the family. She burned him arm and would feed him ammonia. And much more. Dave’s father stood by helplessly wishing he could help. All the while, this small boy tried to understand what he’d done to deserve this treatment and why his mummy didn’t love him. Reading this story made me cry often and when his teachers and school nurse finally took action to take him away from his mother my relief was palpable.

The second book (The Lost Boy) looks at Dave’s time in foster care and trying to adjust to living a relatively normal life after years of torture and seclusion. It wasn’t easy for him or for his foster parents and even though he was away from his mother, she still did what she could to ruin his life further. Its a very interesting look at the inside world of foster homes in 1970’s America. Its also fascinating to read of Dave’s tactics for survival in a world he didn’t know how to relate to.

The final book (A Man Named Dave) details his rise from the ashes of his childhood life. Dave joins the airforce and becomes sucessful in the world. But ofcourse, he still has 1,001 demons and issues to deal with. What’s admirable about Dave, is that he goes after it all. He might hurt, he might not understand – but he never gives up, never stops trying. Dave also eventually falls in love and finds meaning through his relationship with his son. And somehow, he manages to find it in his heart to forgive his mother.

Dave’s recovery and deep-filled desire to help other “at-risk” children is awe-inspiring.

Whilst reading this book at this time in my life was a little bit… dicey for my internal emotional world, I couldn’t stop reading it. It was literally a page-turner of the best kind, despite the horrific content.

I’m still not sure where I’m at right now, given the weight of the book. But am I supremely glad I read it. He’s just another example of the kind of person we can all choose to be – someone who rises high above the past and strides with purpose and strength into a much brighter future.

~Svasti