I Filed for Divorce

I joined the active duty Air Force. The sent me to Texas for basic training and then to California to my first duty station. The Rock called me while I was in basic training and told me all I had to do was tell my first sergeant I’d made a mistake, they’d release me, and we could continue our life together. I declined.

I was living in the barracks and enjoying the single life. I met a really nice guy on the dance floor at the Enlisted Members’ Club. We had a one-night stand and I got pregnant.

My parents told me The Rock showed up at their home in Arizona unannounced. He was traveling with a friend. He basically was trying to get them to climb on board his train of marital bliss for the two of us. They just needed to talk some sense into me. My dad Tom was home alone. He’s a retired highway patrolman. He offered The Rock coffee, then made sure he saw the handgun tucked in the back of his jeans as he reached to the top shelf for cream and sugar. The Rock and his friend left a short time later.

A day later, The Rock showed up at the base I was stationed at, without warning. I was about six months pregnant. He told me he wanted to reunite, and he would raise the baby as his own. We would be happily married for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t believe him. He had abused me throughout our marriage and now he wouldn’t? He would love another man’s baby and not abuse it? Right. I just couldn’t believe him. I told him I wasn’t going back to him and the only reason I hadn’t filed for divorce was because I didn’t have the money yet, because I was paying back my half of our debt. He continued to his new assignment in Alaska.

Three months later, I have the baby. A few days after I returned home, The Rock called me screaming at me because he wants me to take his name off the birth certificate. I tell him his name isn’t on it. It’s not and never was. I never considered putting him on it.

I file for divorce and it’s granted.

One Tough Soldier

It was 1983 and I was in Army Basic Training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina for the Arizona National Guard.  It was end of winter, beginning of spring.  I was nearly done with my months of training. 

When I arrived, I had no athletic history and the physical part was very challenging for me.  I just kept persisting and over time, my physical stamina continued to improve.

My abusive step-father had more than adequately prepared me for the mental aspects of the challenges I faced. 

I had faced challenges with the weapons training as I’m right-handed but fire an M-16 and other rifles left-handed.  I’m unable to hit the target when firing right-handed but still have a tight grouping.  I earned “Expert” marksman firing left-handed. 

I was excited to participate in night exercises and remember crawling under barbed wire with my cradled M-16 while seeing tracer rounds fired from tanks fly over our heads.  After the exercise was over, I was sent to pick up expended rounds from around and on top of the tanks.  There were wooden ladders leaning against the tanks for easy access to the top.  I began to quickly ascend when the third rung from the bottom gave way the moment I stepped on it and I crashed to the ground hard on my left foot.  It hurt but I’m pretty tough and just powered through. 

I had to complete my final physical fitness test in order to complete my Basic Training.  Not finishing meant having to wait and start all over again with another group and that wasn’t something I wanted to do; it somehow seemed like failure. 

I began my 3 mile run and soon the pain in my foot was causing tears to stream down my face unchecked.  Pretty soon, my first sergeant joined me on the track and asked what was wrong.  I told him I had intense pain in my foot.  He suggested I stop and I explained I wanted to finish so I could graduate.  When I was done, he came over and took a look at my foot.  He told me it appears it was broken (he was a trained EMT) and sent me to sick call. 

I went to sick call, waited my turn, and when asked for the reason for my visit I explained my pain and my first sergeant’s suspicion about it being broken.  The young man gave me over the counter pain medication and sent me back to my company.  I hobbled through the last of Basic and the graduating ceremony. 

I went on to Advanced Individual Training in Fort Gordon, Georgia and that’s where I was seen my an Army doctor who x-rayed my foot, explained it had been broken and healed but it healed improperly.  He explained the only way to fix it would be to rebreak it.  I passed on that. 

That was decades ago and the foot still hurts from time to time.  In fact, with age it seems to hurt more frequently but most often when the weather is changing (atmospheric pressures and all that). 

I’m quite proud of the fact that I ran my final 3 miles for my Army Basic Training Physical Training test on a broken foot and that was my fastest time ever! 

Slow to the Pace of Grace

I heard this phrase in a sermon when I lived in Washington state and it resonated with me. 

I was taught as a child that doing tasks was important and a possible way to win favor.  I was also taught that my best would never be good enough; therefore, I have no worth.  Sorry, I had an evil step-father named Dick.

Because of my childhood training, I have spent my adulthood doing.  And what I did was never enough so I could never slow down or stop. 

The pastor said Christians need to slow to the pace of grace.  We need to make time in our busy lives to do what God prompts when he prompts. 

His example was the Good Samaritan in Luke 10.  A traveler was beaten and robbed by thieves, and left naked beside the road.  The Samaritan was traveling but was filled with compassion when he saw the beaten man.  The Samaritan cleaned and bandaged the injured man’s wounds.  He put him on his animal and carried him to an inn.  The following morning, he gave the innkeeper some money and asked him to take care of the man, explaining he would return for the injured man. 

My first instinct is to say, “What? Who has time or money for that?”  And yet, that is exactly what Jesus expects from Christians. 

We need to get our priorities right.  In today’s world, businesses are pushing their employees to do more and more and more with less and less and less.  Sometimes, as Christians, we’re conflicted because we have multiple goals and we’re not sure which should come first.  But God tells us that his priority is more important than the world’s. 

“The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.”

1 John 2:17

We need to stop doing what we think is most important and do what God is asking.  He will bless us if we obey him. 

As a Christian, the thing I desire most is to hear “Well done, good and faithful servant,” cross my Father’s lips. 

All I have to do is obey him and the most important command he gives me is to give people a glimpse of who he is by loving them in action. 

“Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other.  Let us show the truth by our actions.”

1 John 3:18. 

I can’t show love to anyone if I don’t slow down and give them my time and help when they need it.  

An Attitude of Gratitude

Where do I start? 

When I was in the Army National Guard, one of the call and response deals we did went like this:

     Sergeant:  “Company!  You all need an attitude check.”

To which we would respond:

     Company:  “Aw shit, fuck you, man.”

I have no idea why I like foul language so much.  I feel like they convey a deeper emotion than a more civilized choice.  It’s like, your feelings are so intense, you have to swear. 

I loved that I had been instructed by someone with more rank than I to say this phrase.  It tickles me. 

I’m so very grateful for the sense of humor God created me with.  Laughter is my main coping mechanism.  As a child, I loved to make my mom laugh.  I’d come home from school and regale her with stories chock full of humor. 

Oh and we’re a bunch of sarcastically funny people, my family.  I’ve been told the Greek root of sarcasm means to “tear flesh”. 

I have no idea how much of my life I was so focused on the negativity in my life that I totally missed out on many, tiny moments worthy of gratitude. 

After I started my recovery, I remember the first moment of gratitude to take me by surprise was seeing a tiny butterfly flitting about, sharing its exquisite beauty with me. 

What makes it really funny is I previously considered myself a positive, glass is half full kind of gal. 

Right. 

I find that if I start telling God what I appreciate and am grateful for, my focus shifts from the problems in my life to all the good in my life.  And in the reverse, if I let my thoughts and energy weigh on my problems; I don’t even notice my blessings. 

I can make a choice to improve my life by simply refocusing on the good until it becomes a habit. 

I’m going to face problems throughout my life on Earth, it will be easier if I do it with a grateful heart. 

I have much to be grateful for:  a loving husband for whom I have an enormous amount of love and respect, loving parents, loving siblings, two wonderful sons, seven amazing grandchildren, food, transportation, clothing, home, friends, eternal life, a unique relationship with my Heavenly Father and Creator. 

Yeah, I’m much happier when I exercise an attitude of gratitude. 

I Was a Mixed-up Mess

We went to counseling with a Baptist minister. He told me everything was my fault because I wasn’t honoring my husband like the bible says I must, so my husband can do anything he wants. He is the head of the house and it’s my Christian duty to obey my husband. End of story.

He was sent on frequent temporary duty missions and was away from home a lot. We had a phone in the house, but I didn’t want to tell my mom the truth about what was going on. She and my evil step-father Dick were getting divorced; he abandoned her and his children and left town, so she was struggling financially. I didn’t want to be another burden to her. I entertained my husband’s “friends” while he was away. I did it because I was unhappy, abused by my own husband, trapped and angry. I did it. It was sinful and wrong. It was hurtful. I never admitted another affair. I loved him, but I had no idea how to be married. I had no idea how to have a conversation with him. I had no decent relationship skills. I tried but I was sorely lacking. So was my husband.

I worked in domestics at Montgomery Ward in Melbourne, Florida. I had a supervisor I really liked. She invited me to dinner at her home when my husband was away on duty. I met her husband and enjoyed a lovely meal. Then, she told me her husband wanted to get into the swinger lifestyle and they were wondering if either I or myself and my husband would like to join them in threesomes or foursomes. I declined. Later when she and I spoke privately, I explained to her it wasn’t a lifestyle I was interested in, at all. She apologized and told me her husband was unhappy in the marriage and pressuring her to invite her friends to join them in the bedroom.

Obviously, she and I confided in each other. I had told her about the physical abuse The Rock was often subjecting me to, and she was encouraging me to leave him. I felt trapped. I was raised to believe good girls were virgins when they married (I was not, thanks to my step-father). I thought of myself as a Christian and Christians don’t get divorced. I didn’t think I had anywhere to go, even though my mother would have welcomed me home. I was a mixed-up mess.

My Pity Pot

I’m feeling so overwhelmed by my emotions right now.  I’m exhausted.  I cry at the drop of the hat.  I become frustrated in the blink of an eye.  I’m distraught. 

I want to curl up in a ball under a thick, warm blanket and cry until I have no tears left.  I’m so sad about the current state of my life.

Vertigo has stolen my ability to work, my income, my independence, my ability to get my own groceries, my ability to get in my car and drive myself to the library, the bank, or to lunch with a friend. 

I’m worn out from the symptoms.  I’m tired of fighting with my primary care “physician” to get the referrals my husband and I need.  I’m tired of hearing “it’s normal” in regards to tests when nothing in my life is normal any more.  I’m bored to tears but too tired to figure out something to do. 

Wah, wah, wah.  I need to just cry this out.  

I want to feel good again.  I don’t have any bread or pizza that my nephews like left in the house.  I can’t go to the grocery store myself to purchase more.  I can’t bake any more homemade bread because I don’t have any yeast and can’t drive myself to the store.  I could order grocery pickup but can’t use my SNAP card for that and don’t have any income right now.  I want to read a good book but can’t get to the library and the daily headaches make reading and concentrating difficult.  I would love to scrapbook some photos but don’t have anywhere to do it in my home.  I’d love to spend a day hunting but by the time I’ve loaded us up, I’m so dizzy I need to take medication but the medication knocks me out for 24 hours and it’s really hard to look for game when you’re asleep.

I’d love to have lunch out with a friend but I’m unable to drive myself and I hate asking because what if they say yes when they really want to say no?  I’d love to invite a friend over for coffee but what if I’m too dizzy to concentrate well enough to engage in a conversation? 

I don’t want to cry, really I don’t.  I can’t stand pessimistic people who can’t see the positive in life, but at the moment.  I got nothing nice to say and I’m just going to sit here on my pity pot and cry awhile. 

I’ll write when I’m capable but I’m no longer promising to try to do it daily.  I can’t meet that goal. 

She Was a Doozy!

Where to begin?

I’ve had many jobs: babysitting, Dairy Queen, gas station, McDonald’s, county treasurer’s office, yogurt shop, Army National Guard, convenience store, Montgomery Ward, regular Air Force, bagging groceries, waitressing, and a major insurance company. I stayed at the insurance company 19 years. I left because I was returning to my hometown to marry and it wasn’t possible to transfer.

I’ve never been fired from a job. I’ve always exceeded the expectations of my supervisors. I’ve had many, many supervisors. Some were great, some weren’t. I figured out what each of them wanted and how to get along with all of them. Except one. The last one. Oh, and she was a doozy!

Her name is Shenehneh Booker. She’s a beautiful, intense, opinionated, vocal, intelligent, passionate woman. She spent the first year telling me what to do, do this, do that, do this, do that. Yes, I was learning how to do things, but I had no understanding of why I was doing it or how it fit into the grand scheme of what we were supposed to be doing. Protecting children.

I’m passionate about children. They are vulnerable and should be protected. They are our future. I was a child once and no one saved me from my step-father Dick. I wish someone had. I’ve been wanting to do something like this since my early 20s.

She seemed to enjoy making other people look small. She would reprimand and ridicule people in public. She would call you into her office, shut the door, get so close your knees were almost touching, then tell you how angry she was about a mistake you’d made. She would tell you how no one was going to have your back if you made a mistake. She would come to your desk and berate you for not doing whatever was currently the thing she wanted from you most. Other people told me she called them stupid and told them they’d never succeed. Other people told me to beware. Other people told me she would choose a victim and then systematically ruin them. I chose to hope for the best.

I was disappointed.

She was the only person who complained about my efforts and my results. Every other person had nothing but positive notes and encouragement for me.

Too many children, not enough time. Too many time-sensitive criteria, not enough time. Too vague training, not enough time. Too many late reports, not enough time. Too many unasked questions, not enough time. Too little help and change, not enough time.

I often wondered if we were doing more harm than good. Sometimes it was evident that intervention was needed. The gray areas seemed to outnumber the black and white.

I would wake up in the middle of the night wondering if a particular child was okay or if I needed to do something more. I would wake up in the middle of the night with my stomach in knots and my heart in my throat; physically sick at the thought of what I had seen and what might happen next and that I had to get up in a few hours and do it all over again.

I had to do it. I believe God brought me to this position. I believe I was obedient to Him. I believe He taught me a lot about myself and others. I believe he put me in situations where I was able to love others on His behalf. I believe if I hadn’t done it, I’d always have regretted it and wished I’d had the opportunity.

All my childhood, I heard how stupid and ugly and worthless I was. I believed it. I spent most of my adulthood trying to heal myself. I couldn’t. I learned to trust God through a 12-step program. I’m surrendered to God. God has healed me. I have serenity, a full range of emotions, the ability to have a loving intimate relationship, healthy boundaries with my family and friend, hope and positivity, gratefulness, and joy.

I no longer live in denial.

Shenehneh is abusing her direct reports verbally and emotionally. She has created an unsafe work environment. She enjoys demeaning and hurting vulnerable adults. She provoked the same emotional and physical responses in me that I felt as a child being abused by my step-dad. She told me to take better emotional care of myself and mocked my recovery on one hand, while verbally attacking me on the other.

I lasted a year and a half, much longer than the average. I did my job to the best of my abilities and training. I treated everyone with respect. I treated myself with love, honesty, kindness, and respect. I did not allow another person’s actions to cause me to lower my personal standards.

Disability Exam

Last Friday, my husband drove me an hour away to have a disability exam by a mental health professional.

I applied for disability when months had passed since the onset of vertigo without a diagnosis or treatment which will allow me to return to work.  One of the questions asks you to list all conditions which might interfere with your ability to work (or something along those lines).  I don’t want to get in trouble for lying, misrepresenting, or not providing full information, so although the big reason is vertigo, I included nausea (caused by the vertigo), migraines (because I’m having headaches virtually every day and migraines a couple times a month and one of the specialists said the vertigo may be caused by vestibular migraines), and anxiety (because I was under a great deal of stress when the vertigo came on and I believe the mind and body are inextricably linked; I’ve also experienced some pretty strong negative emotions since the vertigo began).  I was being seen by a mental health professional to address the stress prior to the vertigo.   

I’d had a rough week, with lots of vertigo attacks and I was feeling worn down. 

We stopped at McDonald’s on the way out of town and I ate a full meal.  This is the second time I left my town on a full stomach, with the same result.  I have nausea due to the vertigo and the effect is even worse when my stomach is full. 

On the way to my appointment, there is a significant change in altitude and sometimes it plays havoc with my ears.  I had an absurd amount of pressure in my ears and I couldn’t relieve it.  I tried holding my nose and blowing air with my mouth closed.  It didn’t work. 

I was overcome with nausea and discomfort and began to weep.  I desperately wanted to ask my husband to pull over, but how would that help?  We still needed to get to my appointment and it would only make matters worse to be late. 

We got to town and followed the doctor’s directions (down an alley) and arrived at my appointment. 

She asked me a lot of questions and I can’t remember them all but she did ask me the basics.  Name, date of birth, place of birth, state we were in, city we were in, current president and last.  She asked me to repeat three words and to remember them to tell them to her again later.  The words were house, boat and shoe.  We were in a town near water, so houseboat, and shoe.  I tapped my shoe through the rest of the interview.

She asked about my childhood, which was the first crying jag as I told her my step-father Dick was abusive physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually. 

She asked about my education:  three associate degrees and a bachelor’s degree. 

She asked me to explain what the idiom “strike while the iron’s hot” means.  For the life of me, I had no idea and I knew I should know and I was beyond frustrated.  It was one of the three times I started crying and couldn’t stop. 

She asked me if I’m worried about having vertigo.  No, worrying about it isn’t going to change a thing.  I want my old life back.  I want to drive and work and do normal things.  There was a brief period of time when I was really freaked out about not having any income, but we prayed about it, sold some things and covered our debts.  God has met all our needs. 

She asked about my military service and my work history.  The last place I worked was in child safety and it has left me traumatized.  I can’t talk about it without crying.  I cried when I told her I’d worked there a year and a half.  She didn’t ask any follow up questions. 

She asked about the feelings I’ve experienced since the onset of the vertigo.  I named a bunch:  confusion, frustration, worry, fear, dread, anger, embarrassment, depression, sorrow, hope, grief.  I could have gone on.   

At the end of the interview, she told me her husband had a three month bout of vertigo and it was definitely scary but he has since recovered. 

My husband and I got in our car and I started crying again.  He asked what was wrong.  I covered my face with my hands and tried to tell him through my tears.  I leaned over on his shoulder and just let it out.  He was just there.  Loving me.  Supporting me.  Not trying to fix anything, just reassuring me. 

My Apology for Missing a Daily Post

Oops!

I apologize. It was my intention to post each day when I started this blog. I had realized it was likely I was going to miss days occasionally due to vertigo and migraines and I wanted to warn you in advance. I didn’t get the warning out because there’s so much to tell you and so little time and I didn’t get a new post published yesterday. This is going to happen from time to time.

I was under a great deal of pressure, both physical and emotional, on Thursday and Friday. Yesterday I was simply worn out. I got out of bed and laid down on the couch. I alternated between sleeping and watching television all day.

I did the dishes around 4 pm. Then I started working on a monthly grocery list so it can be ready when my sister-in-law has time to shop for us. I was mostly seated for that with a few forays into the kitchen cupboards and freezers.  Around 6 pm, I made dinner and that only took about a half hour.  I was asleep by 8 pm.  

I completely forgot about posting a blog because I was focused on the bare necessities of life, recovering some physical and emotional strength, and didn’t even register it was a separate, individual day.

My promise to you is that I will not forsake this blog.  I’m having too much fun sharing my stories with you to stop.  I will try to write ahead on good days so there’s something to post on bad days.  I will strive to publish daily; however, on really bad days, I may be silent.  I will return as soon as possible.  

Today, my best is enough.  This is huge for a perfectionist in recovery.

Thank you for reading and commenting.  I’d love to hear your stories and opinions too.   

New to Blogging

Hello and welcome to my new blog!

I'm blogging because I'm not able to work outside my home anymore.  I started working at the age of 11 and continued until the middle of August of 2018.  I loved to work.  My work was part of my identity most of my life.  Things have changed.

I woke up one morning, excited to be on vacation for two days to spend time with out-of-state family. As I was getting ready for the day, I lost my equilibrium in the shower and nearly fell.  The vertigo persisted, my husband and I went to my doctor's office but she had no appointments available and told me to go to the local emergency room.  I drove to the emergency room but when I left several hours later, the vertigo was worse and I couldn't safely drive myself.  I haven't driven since.  I haven't worked since.  Four months and many tests and specialists later, I still don't have a cause or effective course of treatment.

I don't know what to do with myself.  I've done a lot of research and learned some coping skills but my life has changed dramatically.  I've filed for disability but would prefer to be self supporting.  My mother suggested I try blogging.  I've always loved to read, write and talk to people.  So I'm going to learn how to do this and am excited about the possible outcomes.

I've been reading a comprehensive book about blogging for over a month now and am ready to begin. I'm certain I will make some mistakes along the way.  I hope the learning curve doesn't take too long.  I look forward to getting to know you and sharing my life's struggles, lessons and successes with you.