Quotes

simple things

There's No crying in Baseball. There's no crying in the Classroom.

Yesterday my heart got stuck in an emotional "Perfect Storm". In my sociology class we talked about death.  Not a pleasant topic but I was all good until the conversation turned to everyone discussing how a person can suffer the same exact emotions when a  relationship dies.  

Maybe a former lover suddenly walked out your relationship.  Maybe it's a  parent who loses the relationship with a child or maybe you've had a friendship  end on a sour note. No matter the reason, you find yourself grieving the loss. It was pretty sad to hear others in my class sharing their stories of loss and despair.  Death is depressing and sad.  And then it happen... someone mentioned grandparents. My heart sank.



My dear sweet grandma and I



My grandparents are in their 90's and I know it wont be long now before they pass away.  I felt my eyes beginning to tear up.  My grandparents took 2 of my sisters, my brother and I in, and raised us as their own. Having teenagers of my own now, I understand what a huge thing this was. They are my Heroes.  As far as we are concerned, they are our Parents and when parents die it's a sad, heartbreaking, and emotional time. I felt one tear drop roll down my cheek.

Then he girl two seats down from me began to tell her story.  Her mother had deserted her when she was little and she is still, to this day, confused about why things happen.  My professor said that when relationship ends, it is just as tough, if not tougher to deal with.  This is because you know the  person who left you, is still around.  You have to face the fact that someone you cared for, left you by choice.  It feels like getting a huge kick in the gut.   It was here that  I basically lost it. 


My sisters & I with my Grandpa


I've been dealing with the death of any sort of relationship with my mother.  She was really good at making her own kids realize that we were disposable or just collateral damage.   As this girl shared her story with the class,  I felt those all to familiar pangs of loss, hurt & rejection and with that;  One silent tear was replaced by many. 
  
My professor wrote on the whiteboard.  In great big letters I saw this:  D.A.B.D.A.   and we were asked to draw upon our own experiences and label each emotion. I ran through each phase in my mind. 


Denial - I could not & would not believe my own mother discarded me.  No matter what anyone said, I refused to believe family members could be so unfeeling and hurtful.  I've only entered the denial stage a few times when it comes to my mom because I have known who she really is for my entire life, so the way she can discard or turn on people doesn't usually surprise me.


Anger - After an incident last year, it took me about 4 months before I got really angry.  I could no longer overlook the obvious.  Which was this:  I was accused of something horrible but I had proof  that they were wrong but it really didn't matter to them.  I just wanted yell as loud as I could and make them listen to me,  but they refused. The more I tried, the worse they made me feel and the worse I felt, they angrier I got.


Bargaining - This stage is horrible. At least it was for me. I started trying anything I could think of to bring an end to my painful reality.  I was offering up my own pride and what I knew to be true in return for just a moment of time to talk but all I got was mocked and laughed at.  I think I will be bouncing between anger and acceptance because I am sooo done bargaining.


Depression - In my case, I felt more anger, frustration and helplessness.  Who the heck wouldn't get depressed?!  Sometimes there is just nothing you can do or say to make things better, and when I realized this, I moved on to the letter A.


Acceptance - I've accepted the fact that things are irrevocable broken but that's okay. I tried my best and that's all I can do. I have to accept that she doesn't care and possibly never did. I've known this and accepted that this is who she is for many years now.  My mother is not quite right in the brain and I just have to deal with it.  I have to accept that this is my reality and her loss. I have had to look back and understand that the dream of someday having that mother-daughter bond died with each lie, each hurt, and every stab in the back.  I accept it all but that doesn't mean it doesn't make me sad.

I think I am still in the first stages of acceptance, and will be for quite some time, with a few occasional visits to the other stages every now and then. I cant help it. I have these little moments where I get upset at the pure madness of the genetic hand I have been dealt.  Sometimes the whole thing just makes me sad. I try to remind myself to consider the source and let it go.

I've always felt that crying or showing emotion meant that I was weak, but that is not true. It means I'm only human. It means I have a heart that I am willing to lay out in the open. It takes a special kind of strength that is only found deep within our spirit, to show love and compassion towards a person that has hurt us.

There I sat in the back row of  the class being overwhelmed with a rush of all sorts of emotions, remembering my own "death of a relationship",  as  my cheeks got wetter and wetter. I don't like crying. I pictured the scene in "A League of their Own" where Tom Hanks says "There's no crying in baseball!".  I  imagined my professor was Tom and he was  saying "There's no crying in Sociology!"   I pictured myself saying to him; "Its my classroom and Ill cry if I want to, cry if I want to...."  It was a bit embarrassing  but I was able to snap out of it soon. 

Death is not always an easy topic. Talking about death or dying can be uncomfortable at times but the death of a loved one can be extremely painful.  Especially if you are sitting in the back row of a classroom. It's just plain embarrassing.  Next time, I am showing up with box of tissues to wipe my eyes and a pen & paper to get an autograph from Tom..... just in case.

Yesterday my heart got stuck in an emotional "Perfect Storm". In my sociology class we talked about death.  Not a pleasant topic but I was all good until the conversation turned to everyone discussing how a person can suffer the same exact emotions when a  relationship dies.  

Maybe a former lover suddenly walked out your relationship.  Maybe it's a  parent who loses the relationship with a child or maybe you've had a friendship  end on a sour note. No matter the reason, you find yourself grieving the loss. It was pretty sad to hear others in my class sharing their stories of loss and despair.  Death is depressing and sad.  And then it happen... someone mentioned grandparents. My heart sank.



My dear sweet grandma and I



My grandparents are in their 90's and I know it wont be long now before they pass away.  I felt my eyes beginning to tear up.  My grandparents took 2 of my sisters, my brother and I in, and raised us as their own. Having teenagers of my own now, I understand what a huge thing this was. They are my Heroes.  As far as we are concerned, they are our Parents and when parents die it's a sad, heartbreaking, and emotional time. I felt one tear drop roll down my cheek.

Then he girl two seats down from me began to tell her story.  Her mother had deserted her when she was little and she is still, to this day, confused about why things happen.  My professor said that when relationship ends, it is just as tough, if not tougher to deal with.  This is because you know the  person who left you, is still around.  You have to face the fact that someone you cared for, left you by choice.  It feels like getting a huge kick in the gut.   It was here that  I basically lost it. 


My sisters & I with my Grandpa


I've been dealing with the death of any sort of relationship with my mother.  She was really good at making her own kids realize that we were disposable or just collateral damage.   As this girl shared her story with the class,  I felt those all to familiar pangs of loss, hurt & rejection and with that;  One silent tear was replaced by many. 
  
My professor wrote on the whiteboard.  In great big letters I saw this:  D.A.B.D.A.   and we were asked to draw upon our own experiences and label each emotion. I ran through each phase in my mind. 


Denial - I could not & would not believe my own mother discarded me.  No matter what anyone said, I refused to believe family members could be so unfeeling and hurtful.  I've only entered the denial stage a few times when it comes to my mom because I have known who she really is for my entire life, so the way she can discard or turn on people doesn't usually surprise me.


Anger - After an incident last year, it took me about 4 months before I got really angry.  I could no longer overlook the obvious.  Which was this:  I was accused of something horrible but I had proof  that they were wrong but it really didn't matter to them.  I just wanted yell as loud as I could and make them listen to me,  but they refused. The more I tried, the worse they made me feel and the worse I felt, they angrier I got.


Bargaining - This stage is horrible. At least it was for me. I started trying anything I could think of to bring an end to my painful reality.  I was offering up my own pride and what I knew to be true in return for just a moment of time to talk but all I got was mocked and laughed at.  I think I will be bouncing between anger and acceptance because I am sooo done bargaining.


Depression - In my case, I felt more anger, frustration and helplessness.  Who the heck wouldn't get depressed?!  Sometimes there is just nothing you can do or say to make things better, and when I realized this, I moved on to the letter A.


Acceptance - I've accepted the fact that things are irrevocable broken but that's okay. I tried my best and that's all I can do. I have to accept that she doesn't care and possibly never did. I've known this and accepted that this is who she is for many years now.  My mother is not quite right in the brain and I just have to deal with it.  I have to accept that this is my reality and her loss. I have had to look back and understand that the dream of someday having that mother-daughter bond died with each lie, each hurt, and every stab in the back.  I accept it all but that doesn't mean it doesn't make me sad.

I think I am still in the first stages of acceptance, and will be for quite some time, with a few occasional visits to the other stages every now and then. I cant help it. I have these little moments where I get upset at the pure madness of the genetic hand I have been dealt.  Sometimes the whole thing just makes me sad. I try to remind myself to consider the source and let it go.

I've always felt that crying or showing emotion meant that I was weak, but that is not true. It means I'm only human. It means I have a heart that I am willing to lay out in the open. It takes a special kind of strength that is only found deep within our spirit, to show love and compassion towards a person that has hurt us.

There I sat in the back row of  the class being overwhelmed with a rush of all sorts of emotions, remembering my own "death of a relationship",  as  my cheeks got wetter and wetter. I don't like crying. I pictured the scene in "A League of their Own" where Tom Hanks says "There's no crying in baseball!".  I  imagined my professor was Tom and he was  saying "There's no crying in Sociology!"   I pictured myself saying to him; "Its my classroom and Ill cry if I want to, cry if I want to...."  It was a bit embarrassing  but I was able to snap out of it soon. 

Death is not always an easy topic. Talking about death or dying can be uncomfortable at times but the death of a loved one can be extremely painful.  Especially if you are sitting in the back row of a classroom. It's just plain embarrassing.  Next time, I am showing up with box of tissues to wipe my eyes and a pen & paper to get an autograph from Tom..... just in case.

Quotes

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life;

define yourself."

-Robert Frost

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life;

define yourself."

-Robert Frost

I am Thankful :

FOR THE WIFE

WHO SAYS IT'S HOT DOGS TONIGHT,

BECAUSE SHE IS HOME WITH ME,

AND NOT OUT WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

FOR THE HUSBAND

WHO IS ON THE SOFA

BEING A COUCH POTATO,

BECAUSE HE IS HOME WITH ME

AND NOT OUT AT THE BARS.

FOR THE TEENAGER

WHO IS COMPLAINING ABOUT DOING DISHES

BECAUSE IT MEANS SHE IS AT HOME,

NOT ON THE STREETS.

FOR THE TAXES I PAY

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM EMPLOYED.

FOR THE MESS TO CLEAN AFTER A PARTY

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE

BEEN SURROUNDED BY FRIENDS.

 

FOR THE CLOTHES THAT FIT A LITTLE TOO SNUG

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I HAVE ENOUGH TO EAT.

FOR MY SHADOW THAT WATCHES ME WORK

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM OUT IN THE SUNSHINE

FOR A LAWN THAT NEEDS MOWING,

WINDOWS THAT NEED CLEANING,

AND GUTTERS THAT NEED FIXING

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE A HOME.

FOR ALL THE COMPLAINING

I HEAR ABOUT THE GOVERNMENT

BECAUSE IT MEANS

WE HAVE FREEDOM OF SPEECH..

FOR THE PARKING SPOT

I FIND AT THE FAR END OF THE PARKING LOT

BECAUSE IT MEANS I AM CAPABLE OF WALKING

AND I HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH TRANSPORTATION.

FOR MY HUGE HEATING BILL

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM WARM.

FOR THE LADY BEHIND ME IN CHURCH

WHO SINGS OFF KEY BECAUSE IT MEANS

I CAN HEAR.

FOR THE PILE OF LAUNDRY AND IRONING

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I HAVE CLOTHES TO WEAR.

FOR WEARINESS AND ACHING MUSCLES

AT THE END OF THE DAY

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE BEEN

CAPABLE OF WORKING HARD.

FOR THE ALARM THAT GOES OFF

IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS

BECAUSE IT MEANS I AM ALIVE.

FOR THE WIFE

WHO SAYS IT'S HOT DOGS TONIGHT,

BECAUSE SHE IS HOME WITH ME,

AND NOT OUT WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

FOR THE HUSBAND

WHO IS ON THE SOFA

BEING A COUCH POTATO,

BECAUSE HE IS HOME WITH ME

AND NOT OUT AT THE BARS.

FOR THE TEENAGER

WHO IS COMPLAINING ABOUT DOING DISHES

BECAUSE IT MEANS SHE IS AT HOME,

NOT ON THE STREETS.

FOR THE TAXES I PAY

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM EMPLOYED.

FOR THE MESS TO CLEAN AFTER A PARTY

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE

BEEN SURROUNDED BY FRIENDS.

 

FOR THE CLOTHES THAT FIT A LITTLE TOO SNUG

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I HAVE ENOUGH TO EAT.

FOR MY SHADOW THAT WATCHES ME WORK

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM OUT IN THE SUNSHINE

FOR A LAWN THAT NEEDS MOWING,

WINDOWS THAT NEED CLEANING,

AND GUTTERS THAT NEED FIXING

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE A HOME.

FOR ALL THE COMPLAINING

I HEAR ABOUT THE GOVERNMENT

BECAUSE IT MEANS

WE HAVE FREEDOM OF SPEECH..

FOR THE PARKING SPOT

I FIND AT THE FAR END OF THE PARKING LOT

BECAUSE IT MEANS I AM CAPABLE OF WALKING

AND I HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH TRANSPORTATION.

FOR MY HUGE HEATING BILL

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I AM WARM.

FOR THE LADY BEHIND ME IN CHURCH

WHO SINGS OFF KEY BECAUSE IT MEANS

I CAN HEAR.

FOR THE PILE OF LAUNDRY AND IRONING

BECAUSE IT MEANS

I HAVE CLOTHES TO WEAR.

FOR WEARINESS AND ACHING MUSCLES

AT THE END OF THE DAY

BECAUSE IT MEANS I HAVE BEEN

CAPABLE OF WORKING HARD.

FOR THE ALARM THAT GOES OFF

IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS

BECAUSE IT MEANS I AM ALIVE.

SURVEY, Comment or SHARE

I am beginning to work on a project for one of my college classes and need some feedback.  I need a few women who are willing to fill out a survey about domestic violence that either they themselves have experienced first hand or situations they have been witness to.   You can leave your name or choose to be anonymous.  You can share your experiences with domestic violence/abuse in all sorts of different situations.  It can be anything from an ex husband or a family member, who was abusive or violent to someone you worked with or even a stranger.

I know how hard it can be to open up and tell people about those things that, in our lifetime, has made us feel worthless and weak.  Now, having said all that....I think it is only fair that I go first.  It's still a bit tough to go back to that place in my mind but each time I do, it gets easier and I feel more freed from the bad parts of the past. So, I will share the basics of what happen with my ex husband many years ago and it is a from a journal entry so please excuse the writing skills. 

Click HERE to read, or you can email me at simplyjune.comments@gmail.com  or you can leave a comment/story below.  I am planning on giving a presentation to a few groups from school as well as a few women/youth groups in the area to promote awareness and ways to get help.

Thanks so much! 

I am beginning to work on a project for one of my college classes and need some feedback.  I need a few women who are willing to fill out a survey about domestic violence that either they themselves have experienced first hand or situations they have been witness to.   You can leave your name or choose to be anonymous.  You can share your experiences with domestic violence/abuse in all sorts of different situations.  It can be anything from an ex husband or a family member, who was abusive or violent to someone you worked with or even a stranger.

I know how hard it can be to open up and tell people about those things that, in our lifetime, has made us feel worthless and weak.  Now, having said all that....I think it is only fair that I go first.  It's still a bit tough to go back to that place in my mind but each time I do, it gets easier and I feel more freed from the bad parts of the past. So, I will share the basics of what happen with my ex husband many years ago and it is a from a journal entry so please excuse the writing skills. 

Click HERE to read, or you can email me at simplyjune.comments@gmail.com  or you can leave a comment/story below.  I am planning on giving a presentation to a few groups from school as well as a few women/youth groups in the area to promote awareness and ways to get help.

Thanks so much! 

My Story - Domestic Violence - the condensed version

This is a basic journaling of my relationship with Ssteve . This is taken from a few different journal entries and from a report I gave in which I was asked to take the emotions completely out and just give basic information and specific incidences. The emotions that I felt were to be left out. I was to leave out the verbal or emotionally abusive that happened to me almost daily.   This is a shortened version of that report.

 

In 1988 I moved from Utah to Lowville, New York with my family. I met Steve at the high school my siblings also were attending. He was a senior and I was already out of school and working at McDonalds full time as a manager. We started going out and were an official couple after only a few short weeks.

My family and I lived just 4 houses away from Steve and his family. He started going to church with my family, started talking with the missionaries from our church and was baptized the following month. During this time, I had often seen him lose his temper with others but never with me.

I remember him coming in to my job a few times and being upset if I was talking to any other guy’s weather they were my employees or customers. He told me I should quit my job. He would get aggressive (swearing, threatening, waiting out in the parking lot for them) with a few male customers as well as male employees, to the point of my boss asking me not to have him in the store.

In the last month of June I found out I was pregnant. That night he found out I was going to have a baby, was the first time he ever hurt me. Earlier in the day I had told a co-worker of mine I was going to have a baby. As we walked out to our cars, he said congrats and gave me a hug. Steve had been waiting for me. As soon as we got in the car he reached over and pushed my head against the window and held it there tight enough that I couldn’t really move my face off the window. He was saying “You like him so much you can stare at him while he drives off!” Then we drove home. At my house I was crying and went into the back yard where he yelled at me for crying. He said it was my fault for trying to make him jealous.

That night he ask me to say sorry and I refused. He then took a box out which was mine and full of pictures, cards, prom and other dance photos, etc. and burned them all in the back yard after pouring gas on top. As he started walking home he said “if you’re not sorry now, you will be later”. And I was.

Over the next few weeks I had been slapped in the face, pushed down stairs, bit on the arm, pulled by my hair around the house, had my arms twisted behind my back, had been kicked hard enough to leave bruises on my legs and beer dumped over my head for not wanting to drink alcohol.

My family saw a lot of abuse. Anytime someone said something at all to him about what was going on, he acted like he was very sorry but then it would get worse because he thought “I was just trying to make him look bad”.

My family called the police four times that I know of. Once I think it was a neighbor, and once my store manager called when she saw him pushing me on the ground while walking out to the car. He was mad that I hadn’t quit my job. His friends & family had been kind to me and the few who knew what he was really like, told me he was just young and this is just how most guys act.

The police gave him a talk but left when he said I slipped and by the look on his face, I knew I’d better say nothing. So that is exactly the story I told.

Then he asks me to marry him. I told him I was afraid of him to which his response was to get upset and punch me in the ribs. (yes, I was still pregnant) This was followed by “When we are married it will be better” and “I’m sorry, but you know what happens if you upset me.”

It was just about every day he did something abusive.

He finally made me quit my job.

We were married. That night he we had spaghetti at our tiny new apartment by candle light and later he put the candle out on my back for not looking happy enough earlier in the day at the wedding. Over the months, I recall being pushed down in the snow by the face and, pushed into a ditch, and punched in the stomach. I was called every bad name you can think of.

One evening while I was taking a bath in our upstairs bathroom, I heard banging on the door and yelling. I still have no idea what set him off on this occasion. After the banging I saw him on the roof watching me. He proceeded to nail the window down into the frame. I got out to leave and he had boarded up the bathroom so I had no way out. I was stuck in that bathroom for 2 hours. Never got an explanation. He just took down the boards after two hours and left to go drinking with friends. Later, he came home put a fist through the wall because there wasn’t dinner waiting and said next time that’s what would happen to me.

I moved back in with my parents. He went back to his home down the street and within days was staying in my room with me. I went into our room my parents were supportive of him wanting to “work on our issues for the sake of the baby”. His family had told me he was just young and this is just how guys are.

steve left for basic training in the Air Force. These days were great. He missed home and was writing all the time saying all the right things, how he had changed, so sorry, love you to much to do all that again…..etc.

On April 26, 1989 my mother and I drove to watch him graduate from basic training. On the drive home, in the middle of a massive standstill on the turnpike due to an accident with a truck carrying gas, I went into labor.  My beautiful son was born that day in Lehighton, Pennsylvania by emergency C-section. While I was being cut open he was complaining that now he won’t get back to party with friends now. Steve also ask how long if it all I would look normal again. He said I looked bad. He said so many rude or hurtful things, and the nurse hold my hand as I cried and she whispered to me to just focus on my new little baby.

That night he left me in the hospital and went home to party it up with his friends back home. Five days later he returned to Pennsylvania to pick me. Within weeks we had moved across country to Montana where I didn’t know a single soul.

In Montana h e would leave sometimes for a day, maybe three. Usually saying it was work but smelling like he’d been drinking. I had the bathroom door nailed again, this time for taking to long in the bathroom. I was taking a long time because I was had just had a miscarriage. This time he left me in the bathroom and left. I got the door open and went to check on my son, J osh. I found no sign of Steve except his wedding ring that had been left on the kitchen counter.

While in Montana I received: two black eyes, had a huge needle stabbed in my leg (for not sewing his patch in his uniform well enough), a glass plate broken over my head, dinner thrown against the wall because it wasn’t what he wanted, yelled at for smiling and saying thank you to the boy that helped us out with the groceries, had a tooth knocked out, was pushed down some stairs and I was choked with his hands leaving marks.

One night after he had been gone 4 days, I got a call from Steve. He said “I am heading home now with some friends and when we get there you’re going to have sex with all of them”. In the background, I could hear voices in the car and by his tone, I knew he was serious.

I called mom in back in New York and about 7 minutes later three kind men were at my door, each holding a black trash bag. They told me my mom had called, and explained that they were from my church and I had 5 minutes to shove whatever would fit into these bags. I just took baby stuff and a change of clothes. I left everything else I owned and I was driving off as Steve passed by with three guys and pulled in the driveway.

The next day I went to the bank to take out some of the money I had earlier deposited from my personal tax return. I was too late. Steve, my dear husband, had emptied the account just as the bank was opening and there wasn’t a single cent left.

Someone called my from the Air Force base. I was asked to talk to the base Chaplin and tell them what was going on. I told them everything. The next day about half the money was returned. Josh and I went back home to my parents.

It wasn’t much more than a month until Steve was back in town. I was notified that he was “dishonorably discharged” from the military for all that he had done to me. He was really, really mad at me.

Now he was home, angry and he was drinking a lot more and often.

I got a job working with special needs clients in residential homes. I had an incident with him coming to my job and banging on doors, windows, yelling all sorts of obscenities while threatening to break down the doors. At one house he did break in the door and the police showed up.

And at another home, when I left to go to my car he was there and was pushed down on the hood of the car and tried to fight him off while held me down and I cried while he raped me. I didn’t say anything to anyone about this one because I thought at the time since we were still legally married it didn’t count. I didn’t ever press any charges because they said he would be out the next day while waiting sort it out in court. The whole time we were together, I never once filed an official report. I was scared of the repercussions not only for my son and myself but other family members as well. He threatened them also. He had told me many times that if I ended up causing him to go to jail it would be much worse when he got home.

I went to see an attorney. It took a while but I earned enough to retain them. Steve kept coming by my parents’ home and getting upset. Then he would say sorry and it won’t happen again. Also, I never received this entire time, a cent from him. Nothing.

The last incident I recall took place in another bathroom. He said he wanted to talk about his family being able to visit his son, so I was to come talk to him on his front lawn. Once I made it just about to his yard, he came out from behind a car, grabbed me and drug me kicking and screaming into the bathroom. No one else was home. For the next 4 hours I was punched, slapped, slammed into walls, given a bloody nose, had the shower curtain wrapped around my head so I couldn’t get any air, my shirt ripped open, soap shoved in my mouth, some sort of cleaning stuff poured on me and the whole time begging him to stop. I laid on that floor bleeding for what seemed like forever while he got more upset and would kick me for crying. Then he flipped me over on my back and put both hands around my neck and chocked me so hard I would feel like I was going to pass out. This happen twice and then on the third time I had pretty much told myself that I was going to die in this horrible bathroom because the person who said he loves me is about to kill me. I don’t know if I passed out or what I just know things got fuzzy and then I felt like I was waking up and breathing heavy. The last 45min or so was me talking me way out of that room. I got out and ran down to my house.

I moved to Utah.

I began working two jobs and earned enough money to file for divorce.

Married a wonderful man who adopted Josh.

To this day my ex has never sent a card, money or helped Joshua out in any way.

Almost 20 years later I found myself testifying in court in a case where he had done the same sort of thing to a woman in Idaho. The prosecutors in Idaho felt like he was going to get only a “slap on the wrist” if I didn’t tell my story to the court so after all this time I finally found my voice. I am so very sorry I didn’t report any of this or pursue this legally. Maybe if I had, no one else would have had to experience the things I did.

He is currently serving up to ten years in prison.

 

 

This is a basic journaling of my relationship with Ssteve . This is taken from a few different journal entries and from a report I gave in which I was asked to take the emotions completely out and just give basic information and specific incidences. The emotions that I felt were to be left out. I was to leave out the verbal or emotionally abusive that happened to me almost daily.   This is a shortened version of that report.

 

In 1988 I moved from Utah to Lowville, New York with my family. I met Steve at the high school my siblings also were attending. He was a senior and I was already out of school and working at McDonalds full time as a manager. We started going out and were an official couple after only a few short weeks.

My family and I lived just 4 houses away from Steve and his family. He started going to church with my family, started talking with the missionaries from our church and was baptized the following month. During this time, I had often seen him lose his temper with others but never with me.

I remember him coming in to my job a few times and being upset if I was talking to any other guy’s weather they were my employees or customers. He told me I should quit my job. He would get aggressive (swearing, threatening, waiting out in the parking lot for them) with a few male customers as well as male employees, to the point of my boss asking me not to have him in the store.

In the last month of June I found out I was pregnant. That night he found out I was going to have a baby, was the first time he ever hurt me. Earlier in the day I had told a co-worker of mine I was going to have a baby. As we walked out to our cars, he said congrats and gave me a hug. Steve had been waiting for me. As soon as we got in the car he reached over and pushed my head against the window and held it there tight enough that I couldn’t really move my face off the window. He was saying “You like him so much you can stare at him while he drives off!” Then we drove home. At my house I was crying and went into the back yard where he yelled at me for crying. He said it was my fault for trying to make him jealous.

That night he ask me to say sorry and I refused. He then took a box out which was mine and full of pictures, cards, prom and other dance photos, etc. and burned them all in the back yard after pouring gas on top. As he started walking home he said “if you’re not sorry now, you will be later”. And I was.

Over the next few weeks I had been slapped in the face, pushed down stairs, bit on the arm, pulled by my hair around the house, had my arms twisted behind my back, had been kicked hard enough to leave bruises on my legs and beer dumped over my head for not wanting to drink alcohol.

My family saw a lot of abuse. Anytime someone said something at all to him about what was going on, he acted like he was very sorry but then it would get worse because he thought “I was just trying to make him look bad”.

My family called the police four times that I know of. Once I think it was a neighbor, and once my store manager called when she saw him pushing me on the ground while walking out to the car. He was mad that I hadn’t quit my job. His friends & family had been kind to me and the few who knew what he was really like, told me he was just young and this is just how most guys act.

The police gave him a talk but left when he said I slipped and by the look on his face, I knew I’d better say nothing. So that is exactly the story I told.

Then he asks me to marry him. I told him I was afraid of him to which his response was to get upset and punch me in the ribs. (yes, I was still pregnant) This was followed by “When we are married it will be better” and “I’m sorry, but you know what happens if you upset me.”

It was just about every day he did something abusive.

He finally made me quit my job.

We were married. That night he we had spaghetti at our tiny new apartment by candle light and later he put the candle out on my back for not looking happy enough earlier in the day at the wedding. Over the months, I recall being pushed down in the snow by the face and, pushed into a ditch, and punched in the stomach. I was called every bad name you can think of.

One evening while I was taking a bath in our upstairs bathroom, I heard banging on the door and yelling. I still have no idea what set him off on this occasion. After the banging I saw him on the roof watching me. He proceeded to nail the window down into the frame. I got out to leave and he had boarded up the bathroom so I had no way out. I was stuck in that bathroom for 2 hours. Never got an explanation. He just took down the boards after two hours and left to go drinking with friends. Later, he came home put a fist through the wall because there wasn’t dinner waiting and said next time that’s what would happen to me.

I moved back in with my parents. He went back to his home down the street and within days was staying in my room with me. I went into our room my parents were supportive of him wanting to “work on our issues for the sake of the baby”. His family had told me he was just young and this is just how guys are.

steve left for basic training in the Air Force. These days were great. He missed home and was writing all the time saying all the right things, how he had changed, so sorry, love you to much to do all that again…..etc.

On April 26, 1989 my mother and I drove to watch him graduate from basic training. On the drive home, in the middle of a massive standstill on the turnpike due to an accident with a truck carrying gas, I went into labor.  My beautiful son was born that day in Lehighton, Pennsylvania by emergency C-section. While I was being cut open he was complaining that now he won’t get back to party with friends now. Steve also ask how long if it all I would look normal again. He said I looked bad. He said so many rude or hurtful things, and the nurse hold my hand as I cried and she whispered to me to just focus on my new little baby.

That night he left me in the hospital and went home to party it up with his friends back home. Five days later he returned to Pennsylvania to pick me. Within weeks we had moved across country to Montana where I didn’t know a single soul.

In Montana h e would leave sometimes for a day, maybe three. Usually saying it was work but smelling like he’d been drinking. I had the bathroom door nailed again, this time for taking to long in the bathroom. I was taking a long time because I was had just had a miscarriage. This time he left me in the bathroom and left. I got the door open and went to check on my son, J osh. I found no sign of Steve except his wedding ring that had been left on the kitchen counter.

While in Montana I received: two black eyes, had a huge needle stabbed in my leg (for not sewing his patch in his uniform well enough), a glass plate broken over my head, dinner thrown against the wall because it wasn’t what he wanted, yelled at for smiling and saying thank you to the boy that helped us out with the groceries, had a tooth knocked out, was pushed down some stairs and I was choked with his hands leaving marks.

One night after he had been gone 4 days, I got a call from Steve. He said “I am heading home now with some friends and when we get there you’re going to have sex with all of them”. In the background, I could hear voices in the car and by his tone, I knew he was serious.

I called mom in back in New York and about 7 minutes later three kind men were at my door, each holding a black trash bag. They told me my mom had called, and explained that they were from my church and I had 5 minutes to shove whatever would fit into these bags. I just took baby stuff and a change of clothes. I left everything else I owned and I was driving off as Steve passed by with three guys and pulled in the driveway.

The next day I went to the bank to take out some of the money I had earlier deposited from my personal tax return. I was too late. Steve, my dear husband, had emptied the account just as the bank was opening and there wasn’t a single cent left.

Someone called my from the Air Force base. I was asked to talk to the base Chaplin and tell them what was going on. I told them everything. The next day about half the money was returned. Josh and I went back home to my parents.

It wasn’t much more than a month until Steve was back in town. I was notified that he was “dishonorably discharged” from the military for all that he had done to me. He was really, really mad at me.

Now he was home, angry and he was drinking a lot more and often.

I got a job working with special needs clients in residential homes. I had an incident with him coming to my job and banging on doors, windows, yelling all sorts of obscenities while threatening to break down the doors. At one house he did break in the door and the police showed up.

And at another home, when I left to go to my car he was there and was pushed down on the hood of the car and tried to fight him off while held me down and I cried while he raped me. I didn’t say anything to anyone about this one because I thought at the time since we were still legally married it didn’t count. I didn’t ever press any charges because they said he would be out the next day while waiting sort it out in court. The whole time we were together, I never once filed an official report. I was scared of the repercussions not only for my son and myself but other family members as well. He threatened them also. He had told me many times that if I ended up causing him to go to jail it would be much worse when he got home.

I went to see an attorney. It took a while but I earned enough to retain them. Steve kept coming by my parents’ home and getting upset. Then he would say sorry and it won’t happen again. Also, I never received this entire time, a cent from him. Nothing.

The last incident I recall took place in another bathroom. He said he wanted to talk about his family being able to visit his son, so I was to come talk to him on his front lawn. Once I made it just about to his yard, he came out from behind a car, grabbed me and drug me kicking and screaming into the bathroom. No one else was home. For the next 4 hours I was punched, slapped, slammed into walls, given a bloody nose, had the shower curtain wrapped around my head so I couldn’t get any air, my shirt ripped open, soap shoved in my mouth, some sort of cleaning stuff poured on me and the whole time begging him to stop. I laid on that floor bleeding for what seemed like forever while he got more upset and would kick me for crying. Then he flipped me over on my back and put both hands around my neck and chocked me so hard I would feel like I was going to pass out. This happen twice and then on the third time I had pretty much told myself that I was going to die in this horrible bathroom because the person who said he loves me is about to kill me. I don’t know if I passed out or what I just know things got fuzzy and then I felt like I was waking up and breathing heavy. The last 45min or so was me talking me way out of that room. I got out and ran down to my house.

I moved to Utah.

I began working two jobs and earned enough money to file for divorce.

Married a wonderful man who adopted Josh.

To this day my ex has never sent a card, money or helped Joshua out in any way.

Almost 20 years later I found myself testifying in court in a case where he had done the same sort of thing to a woman in Idaho. The prosecutors in Idaho felt like he was going to get only a “slap on the wrist” if I didn’t tell my story to the court so after all this time I finally found my voice. I am so very sorry I didn’t report any of this or pursue this legally. Maybe if I had, no one else would have had to experience the things I did.

He is currently serving up to ten years in prison.

 

 

Webcam 101 for Seniors....

CUTEST video I have ever seen!!!

CUTEST video I have ever seen!!!

The Truth About Santa (had to share this one)

http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php

A few months back, the Tooth Fairy got busted. She left a note for Alice up on her computer, and Lucy figured the whole business out. The Tooth Fairy cursed her need to write notes in elaborate fonts and tried to come up with a cover story, but it didn’t fool Lucy.

To her credit, Lucy has kept the secret from her little sister, who still hasn’t lost a tooth and deserves to wake up with money under her pillow.
But the Tooth Fairy knew it couldn’t be too long before Santa was similarly unmasked. She didn’t know when or how, but she knew the days of magic in her house, at least magic of a certain sort, were coming to an end.
And the Tooth Fairy—by which I mean myself—was pretty darned sad about the inevitable, which finally arrived last week.
Lucy and I have been exchanging notes since the school year started. We’ve talked about all sorts of things—sports, books we’d like to read, adventures we’d like to have, even stories from when I was in third grade. For the most part, though, it’s been light, casual stuff. Until last week.
I NEED TO KNOW, she wrote, using capital letters for emphasis. ARE YOU SANTA? TELL ME THE TRUTH.
What do you do when your kid asks for the truth? You tell it, of course, doing your best to figure out a way that keeps at least some of the magic intact.
Here’s what I wrote:
Dear Lucy,
Thank you for your letter. You asked a very good question: “Are you Santa?”
I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.
The answer is no. I am not Santa. There is no one Santa.
I am the person who fills your stockings with presents, though. I also choose and wrap the presents under the tree, the same way my mom did for me, and the same way her mom did for her. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)
I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Christmas morning. You will love seeing them sit under the tree, their small faces lit with Christmas lights.
This won’t make you Santa, though.

Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch.

It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.

Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.
With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping Santa do a job that would otherwise be impossible.

So, no. I am not Santa. Santa is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too. I love you and I always will.

-Mama


--Martha Brockenbrough
Martha Brockenbrough is a writer, teacher and a mom who lives in Seattle. Her recent writing projects include Things That Make Us [SIC] and It Could Happen To You: Diary Of A Pregnancy and Beyond. She is the founder of SPOGG, the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar, and can be found at marthabee.com.

http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php

A few months back, the Tooth Fairy got busted. She left a note for Alice up on her computer, and Lucy figured the whole business out. The Tooth Fairy cursed her need to write notes in elaborate fonts and tried to come up with a cover story, but it didn’t fool Lucy.

To her credit, Lucy has kept the secret from her little sister, who still hasn’t lost a tooth and deserves to wake up with money under her pillow.
But the Tooth Fairy knew it couldn’t be too long before Santa was similarly unmasked. She didn’t know when or how, but she knew the days of magic in her house, at least magic of a certain sort, were coming to an end.
And the Tooth Fairy—by which I mean myself—was pretty darned sad about the inevitable, which finally arrived last week.
Lucy and I have been exchanging notes since the school year started. We’ve talked about all sorts of things—sports, books we’d like to read, adventures we’d like to have, even stories from when I was in third grade. For the most part, though, it’s been light, casual stuff. Until last week.
I NEED TO KNOW, she wrote, using capital letters for emphasis. ARE YOU SANTA? TELL ME THE TRUTH.
What do you do when your kid asks for the truth? You tell it, of course, doing your best to figure out a way that keeps at least some of the magic intact.
Here’s what I wrote:
Dear Lucy,
Thank you for your letter. You asked a very good question: “Are you Santa?”
I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.
The answer is no. I am not Santa. There is no one Santa.
I am the person who fills your stockings with presents, though. I also choose and wrap the presents under the tree, the same way my mom did for me, and the same way her mom did for her. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)
I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Christmas morning. You will love seeing them sit under the tree, their small faces lit with Christmas lights.
This won’t make you Santa, though.

Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch.

It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.

Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.
With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping Santa do a job that would otherwise be impossible.

So, no. I am not Santa. Santa is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too. I love you and I always will.

-Mama


--Martha Brockenbrough
Martha Brockenbrough is a writer, teacher and a mom who lives in Seattle. Her recent writing projects include Things That Make Us [SIC] and It Could Happen To You: Diary Of A Pregnancy and Beyond. She is the founder of SPOGG, the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar, and can be found at marthabee.com.

picture quotes

John and Joe

what made me smile today

If Found...

Andrew McDonald - the genius behind this series of photos - is an author from Melbourne and this is his "Pictorial Guide to Avoiding Camera Loss" which he blogged about at the end of last year.

If Found...

Andrew McDonald - the genius behind this series of photos - is an author from Melbourne and this is his "Pictorial Guide to Avoiding Camera Loss" which he blogged about at the end of last year.

Perception

a story from my sociology class

. . . Something To Think About. . .

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children.. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly..

45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

The questions raised:

*In a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*Do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.

How many other things are we missing?

a story from my sociology class

. . . Something To Think About. . .

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children.. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly..

45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

The questions raised:

*In a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*Do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.

How many other things are we missing?

quotes I loved this week

Featured on IAM.....

Well, although I did not expect my entire email to be quoted, I am honored to share a bit about going back to school.  Click HERE to see the post on the  I AM more than... blog.

Well, although I did not expect my entire email to be quoted, I am honored to share a bit about going back to school.  Click HERE to see the post on the  I AM more than... blog.

Expectations vs. Reality

 by Jeff Wysaski

Things don’t always go as planned. Check out the pics below to see a few examples of what happens when our expectations get punched in the face by reality.

–

 

Tickling Expectations:

Reality:

via

–

Expectations vs. Reality

 by Jeff Wysaski

Things don’t always go as planned. Check out the pics below to see a few examples of what happens when our expectations get punched in the face by reality.

–

 

Tickling Expectations:

Reality:

via

–