SHIFT HAPPENS

Just the title alone is enough to land this book on my favorites list!  And by the way, the order in which I ‘review’ and/or list these books is not an indication of anything other than it is a book that has meant something to me and my journey towards healing.  This book was published in 2000, but I didn’t become aware of it until about 2 years ago.  I have listened to it several times and read the actual book, too, a couple of times.  Clearly, it speaks to me.  And each time I’ve listened to or read it, I’ve gotten something different, whatever it was I needed at that particular moment.

The introduction of the book:

“Two caterpillars were crawling along a tree branch one day when a butterfly flew overhead.  One caterpillar said to the other, ‘You will never get me up in one of those things.’  Shift Happens! is about personal alchemy and inner transformation.  Some people “go” through life; and other people “grow” through life.  Shift Happens! celebrates your unlimited potential to grow, blossom and evolve–in spite of everything.  It is a book of hope.  The term personal alchemy describes the ability to take a piece of dirt, roll it around a few times and fashion it into a pearl.  This is what an oyster does.  Personal alchemy is what your grandmother called turning lemons into lemonade.  It is what old wizards describe as turning straw into gold.  Shift Happens! is about staying open all hours for miracles.  Success, love and happiness are only ever one thought away at most.  One new perception, one fresh thought, one act of surrender, one change of heart, one leap of faith can change your life forever.”

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From the back cover of the book:  “Robert Holden, Ph.D., shares a powerful mix of principles and exercises–from his private coaching practice–that can create real breakthroughs in your life.  Writing in a short essay-style, Robert shows you how to tap into the inner gold of your true nature, unblock yourself, release fears, drop the struggle, transform relationships and live a happier life.”

If you go to his web sites, either robertholden.org or behappy.net you will find that he has other more recent books, including one called Holy Shift!  (I just love the titles he chooses!)

YES, I SURVIVED, AND NOW I’M READY TO THRIVE!!!

Three years ago today my life change in ways I could never have imagined.  Two years ago today I started this website to tell my story.  From the very beginning of this incredible journey, I was always very clear on what had to happen in order for me to move forward, to be able to truly put this behind me and get on with my life.  It has taken far longer than anyone ever thought it would.  I like to think I’m completely finished with my healing process, and then BAM, something happens that shows me I’m not quite there yet.  Apparently there isn’t a formula that I can plug all my info into and get a read out that tells me exactly when I’ll be all better.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  Perhaps it is something I will be dealing with, at least to a degree, and when I least expect it, for the rest of my life.  As much as I’d like it to be something that I can simply forget, that doesn’t seem to be the way these things work.

In the interest of honoring myself and my body, on this day of all days, I chose to hike up Cowles Mountain this morning.  I have only done it one other time, 3 1/2 years ago, and today seemed like the day it was important for me to do it again.  At 1593′, it is the highest point in San Diego.  The hike is only 1.5 miles, with an elevation change of 950′.  I got to the top in about 25 minutes.  The picture below is the view part way up.

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This is the view from the top looking west.

IMG_3452 And this is the view to the east.

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It was a beautiful morning, though I wish I had started just a bit earlier.  There were tons of  people going up and down.  I saw several that did the climb more than once.  I thought about it, but decided there was no need in overdoing it, as I am ever so fond of doing.  Tonight I will go to a restorative yoga class at Mosaic in Golden Hill.  Tomorrow I will do my beloved beach yoga with Danell Dwaileebe.  And then I have another appointment with Marsha Bliss, an extraordinarily gifted energy healer.  This is what I posted on Yelp about my session with her last week:  “I have been dealing with the after-effects of a sexual assault for the last 3 years, and though I am almost completely through it, there is still some residual ‘stuff’ hanging on. Since I have been to Marsha a couple of times in the past, knew that she would be able to help me again. My appointment yesterday exceeded even my wildest expectations! I do not understand HOW it works, but trust me when I tell you that it DOES work! By the time she was finished with me, I was literally floating. The only ‘bad’ thing was I had to get in the car and drive home. The feeling stayed with me the rest of the day, and I am still feeling it this morning. Whatever your issue is, I highly recommend that you go and see Marsha Bliss of Bliss Connections.”

(You better believe I am looking forward to my appointment tomorrow!)

This is what I wrote in my journal this morning, part of which I shared on Facebook:

6:28a  After reading my email and posting on Facebook, I’m off to hike Cowles Mountain.  It is a tribute to myself and to all those who have suffered a sexual assault.  Today is a GREAT day!  It is a testament to those who have survived and those who are still struggling to heal.  Today is the third anniversary of my sexual assault.  I honor myself for surviving, and I honor all those who are still in the process of reclaiming their lives.  I am proof of what you can do if you don’t give up.  I celebrate the new me, who is stronger and more determined than ever to not let the worst few minutes of my life determine the rest of my life.  With enthusiasm I choose to move forward.  I choose love.  I am love.  I am loving.  I am lovable. I matter.  My attacker matters.  (Hard words to write, but nonetheless true.)  Without him I would not be where I am right now.  And where I am is in a very good place.  As the title of this post says…I did survive, and I am now ready to thrive!

Going all the way back to one of my very first posts two years ago, I put this quote:

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I have been changed.  I am anything but reduced by what happened to me, though.  I am so much more than I was, and as I already said, without this traumatic event, without a violent sexual assault, I simply would not be who I am today.  All the way up the mountain this morning I repeated STRONG, HEALTHY, HEALED and on the way down I said, I now release all my trauma, I now accept all my good.  It does feel like something has shifted in me.  I smiled the whole way home.  It feels like whatever might still be hanging on will be energetically erased by Marsha tomorrow.  Best of all, I can honestly say that I forgive DCD for what he did to me.  And even more importantly, I FORGIVE MYSELF!!!

 

MUST KEEP MOVING

Sometimes it is just physically moving my body that gets me through the day.  Even when I don’t necessarily feel like getting up and walking, I do it anyway.  It’s like I can’t help it.  Luckily, it is such an ingrained habit, that I really don’t have to think about it.   And these days it is even more important than ever.  I have been feeling ‘off’ the last week or so.  I attribute this to the fact that the third anniversary of my attack is coming up.  And, possibly, because a friend of mine came very close to dying,  Actually, she did die, and was resuscitated.  This brings up such dark, negative, sad feelings.  I don’t want to feel them, and yet, here they are.  That’s why it is so vital that I move my body, even when I don’t want to.  On some level, heck, every level, it is helping with my state of mind.  I feel certain that I will get through this as long as I keep moving.

And keep in mind:

 

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FINALLY, THE LAST PIECE FALLS INTO PLACE

I have been trying, for over 2 years, since the D.A. showed it to me at one of the court dates, before we ever got to the sentencing, to get a copy of the letter that DCD wrote to me, at the urging of the police, after he was in custody.  When I first read it, I did not believe a word of what he had written.  When I read again last week, I still do not believe a word he wrote.  And I’ll get to that in a moment.  Getting a copy of it proved to be far worse than pulling teeth.  At least with that, you go to the dentist, tell him to pull your tooth and he does it.  At the time, March or April or May of 2012 (who can remember?) I was told that I could not have a copy because it was not mine to have.  Well, that wasn’t exactly correct, but, then again, so much of what the D.A. told me wasn’t exactly correct.  So, I waited.

When I was told by the Probation Department that I was entitled to the file pertaining to DCD, I requested a copy.  I thought for sure the letter would be included.  Nope.  So, I waited some more.  After the sentencing hearing, I waited a few days before going to the Coronado Police Department to request a copy of the file.  That’s when I found out that he (his attorney) had filed an appeal, and because of that, the case was considered ongoing and could not be released.  Okay, eventually, his appeal was settled and I went again to request a copy of it.  Again, I was put off.  I was, however, told that technically the letter was mine as it had been written to me, and I wanted that letter.

More months went by, and I’d go again to the Police Station, and, again, no one could seem to make it happen.  There was always some excuse about why it could not be released to me.  I’d go away for a while, but I never gave up wanting it or biding my time until I’d try again.  Then a few weeks ago I thought it was time to make my seemingly pointless trip to the Police Department.  The day I went the Sergeant was out of the building because of an incident on the bridge, which is code for a jumper.  That was fine, I didn’t need to talk to her, I just wanted a copy of my letter.  I had been asking for a copy of the file, but the truth was I already had that.  I only lacked the letter.  So, I once again filled out a request for MY letter.  I left, expecting I’d hear back that afternoon or the next day.  Well, that didn’t happen.  It took about a week,and honestly, I had kind of forgotten about it.  Again.

I was uptown and my cell phone rang.  I did not recognize the number, but knew it was a Coronado number, so I answered it.  “This is the Coronado Police Department.  We have a copy of the letter you requested.  Do you want to pick it up?  Or do you want me to email it to you?”  I told her I’d pick it up on my way home, thank you very much!

It was in a sealed envelope.  I did not want to open it until I was at home, glasses on my face so I could actually see to read it.  When I finally did open and read it, luckily, I felt nothing.  In this case, nothing is good.  Then I read it again, and thought, he is such a liar.  I don’t believe a word he wrote.  This is what he wrote:

 

“I would like to tell you that I’m deeply sorry for the way I treated you.  I had no intention of assaulting you.  I knew you were terrified.  It also hurt me inside, I was doing something to you that I’ve never wanted to do to anybody.  After the incident I ran over to the police department because I knew what I did was wrong.  Please find it in your heart to forgive me.

Sincerely,

DCD”

 

Okay, let’s take this line by line — ‘I would like to tell you that I’m deeply sorry for the way that I treated you.’  Well, you may be sorry, but I’m guessing only because you got caught and you didn’t get to do what you actually intended to do, which was rape me.  And the ‘way you treated’ me was you slammed me to the pavement, ripped my clothes off and were preparing to beat the shit out of me when my guardian angel arrived.  ‘I had no intention of assaulting you.’  Ah, yeah, you did.  You were out trolling, and when you saw me and I fit the ‘type’ you were hoping to find, my fate was sealed.  You turned around and followed me, getting up your nerve to attack me, and when you decided the time was right, you ran at me as fast as you could, hitting me, taking me down, where you had every intention of raping me.  ‘It also hurt me inside…’  Oh, please!  You never wanted to do something like this to anyone?  Of course you did.  You planned it and I fit very nicely into your plan.  What you didn’t count on was me fighting back.  And you sure did not count on someone coming along and saving my life.  ‘After the incident I ran over to the police department…’  Another big, fat lie.  While it is true that the police picked you up in the 700 block of Orange Avenue and the Police Department happens to be in the 700 block of Orange Avenue, they picked you up 12 1/2 hours after you claim to have run over there.  You expect me to believe you sat there for 12 1/2 hours just waiting for them to notice you?  Hardly.  ‘…because I knew what I did was wrong.’  No shit!  Of course you knew what you did was wrong.  As for me finding it in my heart to forgive you, well, I am still working on that, though I have to say that I am pretty close.  This feels like the last piece of the entire puzzle and because it is now in place, I can finally put it all behind me.  Well, as far as I can while still talking and writing about it in the larger context of my life.

 

YOU JUST NEVER KNOW

So much has been written about Robin Williams’ suicide this past Monday.  I have read most of it.  In the end, what I’ll say about it is this:  you will never know what someone else is going through.  Never.  It’s not possible, unless he or she decides to share it with us.  Just because someone is funny does not mean he or she is not depressed.  Just because someone has financial security does not mean that he or she is not depressed.  Just because we think someone ‘has it all’ does not mean there isn’t a battle going on inside.  You simply cannot tell by looking at someone, especially if that someone does not want you to know, what is happening inside.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again…as someone who has battled and lived with depression for most of my life, I hid it very well.  It is possible to go out and laugh and smile and act as though all is well, when inside you are slowly dying.  And it’s not a matter of being strong enough to fight the good fight.  You can fight and fight and fight, and at some point, you may get tired of fighting.  You just want the pain to stop.  It really is that simple.

Mental illness, suicide, sexual assault, rape… none of these are pleasant subjects; and yet, all of us are touched by them at some point in our lives, whether directly or indirectly, and it would behoove us to be more open about them all.  Is it easy to talk about for most people?  No.  It’s can be very difficult.  And it is very necessary, I think.  There is a lot shame and judgement surrounding all of them, and that makes people reluctant to talk about them.

There are a lot of people who think that committing suicide is a selfish act.  Jenny Doh wore a great post on this very subject.  As she said, it is not about you or me.  It is about the person who wants the pain to end and comes to the decision that the only way is through death.  If you’ve never been there, you cannot possibly understand.  And though I find it hard to believe, there actually are people who have never felt that kind of despair.  I know a few.  Or they are lying about it.  Most, though, have had the idea at least make an appearance, however briefly.   This is the comment I left on Jenny’s post:

“Depression is a chemical imbalance in your body/brain.  It runs in families.  I have lost two brothers to suicide.  I have been seriously close to ending my own life.  I got the help I needed.  Jenny, you are absolutely right about suicide not being about you or me, but about the person who does it or attempts to do it.  I can totally understand wanting to make the pain stop.  Someone who has never felt the utter despair and hopelessness that a deep clinical depression can bring, cannot understand how this truly feels.  I would go so far as to say that no one takes his or her own life on the spur of the moment, simply because of a bad day.  Many months, years or decades of pain, whether physical or emotional or both, contribute to such an act.”

I also feel like there are different ways to kill yourself that are not even considered suicide.  Abusing drugs and alcohol are two of them.  And overeating is probably one, too.  As the saying goes, everyone is fighting some kind of a battle.  Some are more obvious than others.  Mental illness, though, usually is not so apparent.  And as long as there is so much judgement surrounding it, people will remain reluctant to speak about their struggles.  Sadly, it takes the suicide of a well-known and well-loved celebrity to get people talking about it.  My hope is that, however hard it is, that we continue the dialogue even after the media attention has died down.  As I’ve said from the beginning, and the second anniversary of this site is just a little over a month away, my purpose for sharing my story is because I believe passionately that we need to talk about these hard subjects so that we can, hopefully, make a difference in the lives of those who are suffering.

My heart goes out to the family and friends of Robin Williams.  I believe he did the best he could and stayed in this world as long as he was able to.  May you find some kind of peace in knowing that his pain has stopped.

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DEPRESSION…AND HAPPINESS

Is it possible to be both depressed and happy?  Common sense would tend towards no.  But I’m thinking that it is possible to be both, at the same time, without even being aware of it, especially if your ‘normal’ state is some degree of depression.  I think that depression runs the gamut from mild sadness occasionally all the way to severe clinical depression.  I cannot honestly remember a time that I was not depressed, though if asked now, I would say I am happy.  What does that mean?  Being happy?  Obviously, happiness is subjective.  What makes me happy will not necessarily make you happy, and vice versa.

I can remember clearly the first time I was aware that I really didn’t want to be in this world.  I was 14 years old.  As I am thinking about this, though, I suspect that this idea occurred to me when I was far younger.  I simply do not remember.  Much of my childhood is a blur. I have very few actual memories, but knowing myself as I do, it makes sense that it would have come up long before I was 14.  So much more is known and understood these days about depression and the genetic link.  I am definitely predisposed to suffering from it.  My brother and uncle (my mother’s brother) are both diagnosed bipolar.  I believe that my grandmother, though not diagnosed, also suffered from it.  And plain old depression runs rampant in my family.  Two of my brothers have died as a result of it.  It is something I continue to struggle with, though certainly not to the degree I have in the past.

I think part of the reason that depression is still so misunderstood and seen by many as some kind of weakness, is because it is possible to live with it and function almost normally.   I did it for many years before I finally took the antidepressants I needed to get my chemicals back in balance.  I’m sure I even had times that I felt happy in the midst of my suffering.   I remember when my grandmother found out I was taking an antidepressant, she said, “You’re not depressed.”  Ha!  I told her that just because she didn’t see it did not mean it wasn’t there.   I was very good at hiding it from everyone.  I knew for years, and other than a few attempts at therapy, I did nothing about it.  My mother’s attitude was, buck up and stop feeling like you do.  Oh, okay.  Too bad I didn’t think of that.  Unfortunately, that is the attitude of a lot of people.  If you were stronger you could do it.  It does not work that way.  If your chemicals are truly out of balance, no amount of wishing, hoping, talk therapy, exercise or anything else is going to change it.  You must get the help you need.  What made me finally break down and admit I had to go on medication was being in Key West, the sun shining and I was feeling nothing but darkness.  I thought, oh crap, my therapist is right, I do have to take something.  I was always able, when I lived in Chicago, to blame it on the weather and the lack of sunshine, which were definitely contributing factors.  But when I was in sunshine and warmth and still had such negative feelings, I knew the time had come.

When I got back to Chicago, I asked my therapist for a recommendation of a psychiatrist so that I could do what needed to be done.  When I first went to him (I do not even remember his name now) and he confirmed that, indeed, I needed medication, I asked how long I would have to take it.  He told me that usually a year, maybe a little longer was considered ‘normal.’  I said, “Okay, but that’s as long as I plan to take it.  No longer.”  He agreed, and I continued with my therapist and once a month saw him as well.  All I can really say about the drugs were they accomplished what needed to be done.  I have always described the process of being on them as hateful.  I was first prescribed Prozac, which just about killed me.  Every bad side-effect that was possible to get, I got.  Finally, he changed it to Wellbutrin and though I hated it too, it was not quite as bad as the Prozac had been.  In the end I took it for 14 months, and when I was done, that was it.  Luckily, he agreed, and I went off of it.  I felt better than I had in years.  At the time, too, I asked if I would ever have to take it again.  He told me that I might, that there was no way to really know, sometimes people did and sometimes they didn’t.  There have been times when I thought maybe I should probably be on something again, but until my attack, I never seriously considered it.

If you’ve been reading this blog all along, then you already know what happened when I attempted to take something for my depression, post attack.  Because I had had such a negative experience with antidepressants, even though they did help me, I really did not want to take one if I could somehow do it more naturally.  So, Suzie, my amazing therapist, recommended St John’s Wort, which is an herb.  I thought this was a suitable compromise.  Well, just as the prozac almost killed me, the St John’s Wort almost made me kill myself by jumping off the Coronado Bridge.  Thing is, I did not realize it was the pills, I just thought I wasn’t getting better.  I did not tell anyone, including Suzie, for a couple of weeks.  I finally told her and she immediately knew it was the supplement that was causing the problem.  I had to wean off of it, but because of that and the fact that every other thing I had tried taking and had had such a bad response to, I was afraid to try anything else.  I had to white-knuckle it the rest of my therapy.  As I’ve said before, my depression after my sexual assault was situational, not clinical, and I was able to do it.

Ask me if I’m happy now, and I’ll say YES.  Some times I am happier than other times, and I still have issues that definitely challenge me, but, over all, I am happy.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 

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MY LIFE STORY IN 100 WORDS

I got this idea from Jennifer Pastiloff’s post yesterday.  She featured a guest post by Elissa Wald,  who had been asked on an application for freelance copywriting work, to tell her personal story in 100 words.  (To read Elissa’s 100 word story, go to Jen’s web site, http://themanifeststation.net)

It got me thinking of what I would say in 100 words that could truly encapsulate and/or describe my life in so few words.  I mean, I’ve lived 54 years and been through an awful lot.  But I like a good challenge, so I gave it a shot.  I am calling it my life story as opposed to my personal story.  Here’s what I came up with:

My Life Story In 100 Words:

A happy, healthy, loving, kind, silly, adventure-seeking, funny, mostly intelligent, sometimes wildly irreverent, forward-looking spirit having a very human experience. Have faced many life challenges with grace, and survived. Have fought hard to stick around to see what happens next. Looking to make a difference in my life so that I am able, by example, to encourage others to do the same. Believe that one person CAN make a difference, and if we all live with this uppermost in our minds, think of the awesome transformation the world would see. Am ready for blessings that are no longer in disguise.

What do you think?  Did I do it?  Can you do it?  I’d love to see what you come up with.  Please leave a comment with your 100 word story.

 

 

 

 

A FINE LINE

I started writing this post last night on my phone.  I only wrote a portion of it because it is a bit of a pain doing it that way.  I need to be able to see the entirety of what I’ve written and that just isn’t possible on a tiny screen.  Reading over what I wrote, though, I think I’ll go in a different direction.  I was going to eventually tie what I wrote last night into what I really want to say, and it would have been a far longer, more complicated essay, so, I’ll leave that for another day.

What I really want to say today is there is a very fine line between teasing and being rude and disrespectful.  I grew up being teased, and though I am not always crazy about it now, I do understand it, and it is familiar.  And, to a point, I am truly okay with it.  However, it simply does not work for me in the ways it used to.  Was it my attack that has made me more sensitive to this?  Is it evolving and changing to a kinder, more loving person in general?  Or is it not being willing to put up with any crap and rudeness of any kind anymore?  It’s probably a combination of all of those things.  And, really, it doesn’t matter what the reason…if I perceive it as something I do not want in my life, I have every right to feel the way that I do, and to do whatever I need to so that it stops.

At the risk of being called overly sensitive and/or ridiculous, I had an incident occur on the 4th of July that upset me.  A LOT.  A little background…I drive an old car.  Her name is Grazelda.  She is a ’96 Volkswagen Golf, the Harlequin edition, which is a multi-colored car.  It is one of the rarest Volkswagens ever made. There are only 70 of my version.  Most people love my car and think it is really cool.  Okay, so she is faded and has some rust on her hatchback.  So what?  The thing is, you do not have to like my car, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn whether you do or not.  What I have an issue with is you telling me that I drive a piece of shit car or that no one wants to be seen riding in it, etc.  Yes, these comments and others like this were made to me on Friday.  The sad thing is they were made by someone I’ve known since I was 18 years old (36 freaking years!) and not for the first time.  And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I have two family members that jumped on the let’s-bash-Tamerie’s-car bandwagon.  The seem to think it is cute.  I do not.  Not even a little bit.  And these relatives are not young teenagers or even twenty-somethings; no, they are in their sixties!  Of course, this behavior is nothing new and something I have put up with for as long as I can remember.  I do know they care about me and are just teasing me, and in spite of that, and in spite of my asking that they not do it, they continue to do so.  It makes me not want to go to family functions.

Am I being a big, fat baby about this?  I don’t think so, and even if I am, their behavior lands on me as disrespect.  And that I should not have to tolerate, especially from people in my family.  As for my friend from college, that’s an entirely different story.  And why, would someone please explain to me, are there people who think it’s okay to give me their opinion about my car, especially when it has happened numerous other times, and I have made clear that I do not appreciate nor want to be subjected to it?  To me, this is extremely rude and so uncalled for.   It has been suggested that this is his way of letting me know that he likes me.  Really?  Really?  Grow up.

I have always been a person who stands up for myself.  I have never cared if others like me or not, nor have I cared what they think about me.  If you don’t like me, okay.  I see it as your loss more than anything else.  I would never tell anyone, ANYONE, the things that certain friends and family members feel they have the right to say.  I learned a long time ago that words can never be taken back.  Oh sure, you can apologize for saying something hurtful or mean or down right cruel, BUT you can never take it back.  It can’t be unheard.  Because of this, I am very careful what I say to others, and even more so if I am angry or upset.  I am not sure why others are not as careful.  It seems like such an easy and kind thing to do.

A PAIN IN THE NECK

Make that a pain in my neck.  Literally.  In this ongoing, seemingly never-ending process of healing from my attack, when most everything has been dealt with and is, if not totally better, pretty dang close, the one thing that is still hanging on is the pain in my neck.  And, for the most part, it’s okay.  But not healed, and this is an issue for me.  As my soon-to-be-gone (moving out-of-state – boo hoo) acupuncturist, Matt Truhan, said a couple of weeks ago, my neck was the first thing injured and it is the last thing my body is hanging onto.  Immediately following my attack, I could not move my head at all.  I had to turn my entire body to look at something behind me.  In time, I was able to move it again.  Two or three months?  I do not remember exactly, but, eventually I was able to move my head without turning my whole body.  And because I was so focused on healing the emotional trauma, my neck was kind of forgotten about.  Or, rather, I just learned to live with the constant pain, and after a while, even though it was, and is, still there, I ceased noticing it. Kind of like the headaches I used to suffer from.  In my daily life, for the most part, I am not aware of it.  In yoga, though, I am very aware.  There are certain postures I simply am unable to do because my neck will not bend or turn.  Even when my teacher says, as we are on our stomachs, ‘turn to your favorite cheek,’ I have to keep my head straight, there is no turning to either side more than just a couple of inches.  Or when we are in a twist and he or she says to bring the head back to center, and mine has been there all along.

So, as a last-ditch effort before he and his wife move to Oregon, Matt has been concentrating on my neck.  It has helped, but I’m not sure it will be all better before he leaves.  Because I do not like massage, he never insisted on working on it before.  Oh, he put needles in it and in other points that correspond to the neck, but the pain and lack of mobility is as much muscle memory as it is real, physical pain, and that makes it much harder to deal with.  The massage, though very painful, has helped some.  This last Tuesday, though, I was exceptionally sore because I had played tennis for the first time in 6 years, and he did insist on a short, Chinese-style massage.  The reason I do not like massage is because I always feel awful afterwards, like for several days.  I agreed because he is so good at his job and I thought, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad.  Wrong.  Not only did it hurt, I felt like crap the rest of the day on Tuesday and still felt yucky yesterday.  I even took an epsom salt bath, which I dislike almost as much as massage.  Today, I feel almost normal, whatever that is.  And when I say I feel almost normal, I mean from the ill-effects of the massage, not my neck.

The dictionary on my computer defines whiplash as:
whiplash |ˈ(h)wipˌlaSH|
noun
1 [ usu. in sing. ] the lashing action of a whip: figurative : he cringed before the icy whiplash of Curtis’s tongue.
• the flexible part of a whip or something resembling it.
2 injury caused by a severe jerk to the head, typically in a motor-vehicle accident.
verb [ with obj. ]
jerk or jolt (someone or something) suddenly, typically so as to cause injury: the force of impact had whiplashed the man’s head.
• [ no obj. ] move suddenly and forcefully, like a whip being cracked: he rammed the yacht, sending its necklace of lights whiplashing from the bridge.

In my case,  it was both a noun and a verb.  I sustained injury ’caused by a severe jerk to the head’ though mine was from being violently slammed to the pavement, and not by a car accident.  And the action of DCD in slamming me to the pavement caused the injury.  Even now I get a twinge of pain and sadness when picturing the scene that morning.  I know it could have been so much worse.  Had I not been in such great physical shape and been so angry that someone would even think of attacking me, the outcome may have been far different.  And yet 33+ months later I am still dealing with the pain that his actions caused me that September morning.  That pisses me off.  And makes me even more determined to get myself completely healed, however long it takes.

YOGA AND HEALING

I started doing yoga in September of 2011.  While it is true that I had taken a few classes here and there, I never ‘got into it.’  However, when I took my first class at Coronado Yoga and Wellness, something clicked.  I will admit that during the first class, I thought, ‘this is so slow, I’m not sure I can do this.’  Then I admonished myself to relax and take it for what it was, that I didn’t have to go 100 miles an hour to benefit from something.  That did it for me.  I had had only 2, maybe 3 classes, when I was attacked.  I kept going back, though, even as my body and mind were in shock, and I had to be around people, and at that point, I was afraid of all people, I kept going.  I remember lying on the floor, wanting to cry and not being able to, going over and over in my mind what had happened and still not believing it had actually happened to me.  And even though my body was hurting, I continued to show up.  There is not a doubt in my mind that doing yoga was instrumental in my healing process.

I came upon this wonderful essay about just that and I emailed the author, Molly Boeder Harris, to ask if it was okay for me to reprint it here.  She graciously agreed.  She also has a web site that deals with sexual assault, www.thebreathenetwork.org.

 

Transcending the Trauma of Sexual Violence With Yoga
By Molly Boeder Harris
Photos by Michael Rioux

“Sexual violence can impact every facet of a survivor’s life, including her physical, mental, and spiritual health. Philosopher Ann Cahill captures the pervasive nature of the crime of rape in her book Rethinking Rape (2001), explaining, “As a traumatic, violent, embodied experience, rape…does not merely attack the victim’s sexuality, or her sense of safety, or her physical being. It does all of this, and more. It cannot be assumed that there is one aspect of that person’s being that is untouched by the experience of rape. There is no pristine, untouched corner to which to retreat…the extent of the rapist’s influence is broad, but not infinite…the self that emerges from the process of healing will always be qualitatively and profoundly different from the self that existed prior to the assault. To know oneself.as raped, is to become a different self.”
Healing after sexual assault requires intentionality, consistency, and patience. The challenge of swimming against unexpected waves of physical, emotional, or spiritual disturbance and depression, combined with a cultural expectation that time heals all wounds, can leave survivors feeling disconnected from themselves and others and unable to trust their ability to manage their inner experience. The nonlinear and often lifelong process that begets healing can cause survivors to question their capacity for resilience.
Yoga provides an accessible, personalized practice that can engage survivors in safely processing sensation and sustain them through multiple stages of healing. Like healing, yoga is a lifelong practice , with ebbs and flows, breakthroughs and setbacks–all equally valuable and necessary. For a sexual assault survivor, an intentional yoga practice provides a safe, accessible, and self-directed space that serves to reintegrate body, mind, and spirit. As survivors explore layers of their being and allow sensation to emerge, pain and suffering are alleviated, and more space is created for encountering the awesome experience of being alive. Yoga allows survivors to regain a sense of comfort and ease within their own shape, to process nonverbally feelings that transcend language, and to experientially cultivate gratitude towards the body, which serve as a reminder of one’s resilience.

In practicing yoga, we link movement with breath and a presence of mind, offering a welcome inner quieting and release of tension that foster expansion. Yoga creates a unique environment where survivors can explore inside with kindness and inquisitiveness and develop attitudes that allow for compassionate responses. Honoring the body as a sacred space after surviving the violation of rape demands tremendous, consistent effort, but the integrated healing it provides remains unparalleled.
The belief that humans (and animals) contain an innate healing capacity–accessed through the body–is a guiding methodology in contemporary trauma treatment. Dr. Peter Levine, creator of a “body-awareness approach to trauma” called Somatic Experiencing ® , describes how our “instinct to heal [and] self-regulate [are] engaged through the awareness of body sensations that contradict those of paralysis and helplessness, and which restore resilience, equilibrium and wholeness.” Levine’s body-based method ” returns a sense of aliveness, relaxation and wholeness to traumatized individuals who have had these precious gifts taken away.” Pat Ogden, another trauma expert, describes the value of mindfulness, an integral part of her body-based psychotherapy practice, as a “state of consciousness in which one’s awareness is directed toward here-and-now internal experience, with the intention of simply observing rather than changing [the] experience.” Ogden eventually encourages the individual to “come out of a dissociated state and future or past-centered ideation and experience the present moment through the body.” This holistic system brings ” the body experience into the foreground” and offers the possibility for profound healing. The essential threads within these innovative techniques, such as body awareness, examining internal movement of feeling and sensation, staying present in the “here and now,” and bearing witness to one’s experience without judgment are qualities that rape victims can weave into a balanced, intentional yoga practice.
Since sexual violence often damages the connection with the body, body-based therapeutic practices are invaluable. Discussing the layered impact of trauma, which can heighten negative sensation and hinder positive sensation, Ogden describes how ” fully experiencing sensations may be disconcerting or.frightening, as intense physical experience may evoke feelings of being out of control or.weak and helpless. On the other hand, traumatized individuals are often dissociated from body sensation, experiencing the body as numb or anesthetized.”
Yoga postures, breathing exercises, and meditation techniques can effectively reduce the symptoms of rape trauma syndrome (RTS), a form of post traumatic stress disorder that was identified by Ann Wolbert Burgess and Lynda Lytle Holmstrom in 1974. RTS includes symptoms and reactions experienced by most survivors during, immediately following, and for months or years after the assault. RTS can involve psychological, physical, behavioral, cognitive, and interpersonal disruptions including headaches, anxiety, inability to concentrate/focus, sleeplessness, lethargy, anger, depression, mood irregularity, spiritual disconnection, hopelessness, fear/avoidance of intimacy and sexuality, eating disorders, self-injury, and substance abuse. Survivors navigate amidst hyperarousal, numbness, and vivid nightmares, causing a host of energetic imbalances and concerns.
Survivors may experience flashbacks upon some sort of sensory trigger, in which they feel as if the assault is happening all over again–and the physical and emotional responses can be quite visceral, if not debilitating. The embodied practice of yoga allows survivors to develop healthy coping and grounding techniques that can disrupt a flashback and reestablish stability. Since flashbacks may also happen due to perceived or real threats, this ability to track body sensation, which helps survivors experience present reality rather than reacting as if the trauma were still occurring is an essential tool to self-care, independence, and personal safety.

Given the challenges that individuals must brave after surviving sexual assault, it is clear that a comprehensive yoga practice involving organic movement, exploring sensation, intentional breathing, and deep rest can aid healing. A survivor benefits from the internal cleansing and freeing feeling of a vigorous vinyasa practice, as well as the profound comfort and spaciousness that accompanies a restorative sequence. The yoga practice can be tailored to support and enhance a survivor’s sense of embodiment, integration, and inner peace.
When the poet Adrienne Rich describes the healing power of poetry, it reminds me of the mysterious and boundless gifts that yoga can bring into a survivor’s life: “[I]t has al ways been true that poetry can break isolation, show us to ourselves when we are outlawed or made invisible, remind us of beauty where no beauty seems possible, remind us of kinship where all is represented as separation” (“Defy the Space That Separates,” The Nation , October 7, 1996). W e are all essentially survivors, carrying the stories and scars of our Life’s path. Some of those scars still hurt us deeply, yet others have transformed us and informed new and beautiful journeys. As we trek along our paths of healing and growth, let us offer gratitude for the exquisite opportunity to discover embodiment, breath by breath, this precious and simple offering that the practice of yoga returns to us.”

 

I continue to do yoga 3-4 days a week, mostly yoga on the beach here in Coronado or outside on the grass in Pacific Beach.  It has made me stronger in all ways and I will have a yoga practice for the rest of my life.  I wish I had found it earlier in my life, but am incredibly grateful it came when it did.  It contributed greatly to the healing of my mind, body and spirit.