To All the Broken Girls

I am daily touched by the lives that are portrayed in these blogs. Today I want to take the time to write to all the broken girls.

I am so deeply sorry for the abuse and trauma you have been faced with. I wish I could take all your pain and heartbreak away.  I am so sorry that you have been broken and wounded. 

You need to know, it’s not your fault. That you don’t deserve to be broken, that you don’t deserve to be hurting, scared, frustrated or lonely.  

You need to know people are listening, they are here reading and feeling your pain right along beside you. You need to know that you aren’t alone and that you are loved.

You are loved because you are lovable. Often times brokenness makes us feel like we are not deserving of love but we are. 

You might not have family or friends. You might have those, like I do and still feel so broke and alone but we have each other. You can find so much healing and grace in these women on these blogs.  It is possible to put our pieces back together and embrace the new masterpiece we have become.

The abuse we have been through is not the ending of our stories but the turn we were unfortunately forced to take. It’s time to embrace the change in direction and love the people we have become.  It’s ok to be broken. 

With our brokenness we are no longer the same as everyone else. You have unique pieces, shaped like no one else. We can adjust to the new us if we let go of the image we have of what we used to be.

If you’re broken, don’t be scared to comment below, I’d love to take a look at your blog, listen to your story! Even post a link to some of your work you’d really like me to read because I want to read. 

Broken with you,


( 9/16/14 b) 


So like I said in my last posts, I have an appointment with my therapist in a few hours. Yes procrastination at the finest.

So here we go…

Priorities for therapy:

1. Calming my Anxiety
2. Deal with Anger towards my Brother and Family
3. Deciding what to say to my Family when I Finally face them and Talk about what Happened
4. How to Handle it when it doesn’t go as Expectated
5. Working on Expectation:
-My Own
-My Husbands
-My Family
-Not having as Many
6. Show for My Appointments
-Make Time and Not Cancel
-Not be Scared to do This

My Personal Priorities

1. Devote some Time to Myself
-Learn/Play my Beautiful Guitar
-Work on Crafts/Art/Selling for myself and My Business
-Learn Spanish
-Look at More School/Plan my Next Step to help
-My Bible
-Devotional Books
-Learning/Growth Books
-Fun Books

2. Spend more Quality Time with my Daughter
– Enjoy her
-Show her Love
-Not Stess Around her

3. Spending More Quality Time with my Husband
-Doing Things Other than TV
-Not hold Past Issues Towards our Future
-Have More Intamcy (goes along with previous)
-Be Fun and Happy Around the Short Amount of Time we Have Together
-Be Thankful of All he Does Do
-Be Forgetfull of All he Doesn’t Do
-Show More Love

For now, that’s what I got. And a plus, I did my homework before my Appointment. Or in the parking lot or lobby!

Finding Answers for Broken Friendships and Guilt

After Posting my two posts, Guilt, Guilt, Guilt and Decisions about a Friendship Gone Wrong HeLp!! (not sure why it won’t let me link that too).  I have started thinking more about how the guilt is impacting my decisions. But I was reminded of this photo I found on pinterest (can we say addicting).



I don’t need to feel any guilt about finally letting go. I did all that I could for that friendship, including trying to fix it multiple times. I just need to let it go. That I don’t have to feel guilty for missing them. That I don’t have to feel guilty about giving up. Because I didn’t.

I have loved blogging. I have found many of my worries, work themselves out by realizing reacquiring themes. As I said when I started, unfortunately for you, this blog is my journals. My life all out there, for the world to see. No more hiding, no more shame, honesty.

Sure somethings should stay out of here. But this is my journey. Dealing through lifetime of trauma, sexual abuse, and incest. It also relates to my family and friendships. As I said in my previous choice, for sure now. The friendship has ended, it is final for now. And I am no longer going to feel guilty about it. Im going to let God take that guilt and move on.

As for the decisions about putting stuff in my daughters room or around my house. Since the decisions loom over me, Im going to keep a box for those items that remind me of the guilt and bad times and have no problem putting up those of the good times, the things that I feel is ok to remember about the friendship.

Feeling guilt free and finalized,


Decisions About a Lifetime Friendship Gone wrong. HeLp!!

What would you do about a friendship gone wrong and all the reminders with it?

I’m struggling, with the organizing of my daughters room and my own stuff. I have photos and items from a lifetime friend that more recently became an ex best friend.

I’m devastated that it ended like it did. We had good times but majority of the best times where in high school. Ummm for me that was 2002. Then she’s come and gone through my life. We normally work it out. But this time feels different. Feels final. Especially on her part. And that she can do that, makes it final on my part. How it ended, made it final on my part.

I know I don’t need someone like that in my life. But we’ve come across all these reminders of our friendship. Photos, gifts, a handmade quilt for my daughter, paintings for her room.

What do I do with these things, these reminders. I don’t think I want to goodwill them yet but do I hang pictures that remind me of the good times that always remind me of her. Do I keep the quilt in my daughters room, the paintings she made?

I feel like everything that makes me think of her, needs to go in a box. At least for now. I’m still angry and extremely hurt. I’m flooded by all these emotions. Not just emotions from her but the emotions from the organization.

I’m exhausted and tired. Your thoughts? What would you do? Cold turkey? Remember good times? Or cry?

Thanks y’all,




Another Movie about Abuse and Christianity

Home Run
Home Run Movie Trailer

I loved this movie. It hit especially close to home reminding me that you have no idea what the person next to you is struggling with. That the person you thought was the good girl at church, could being molested by her brother.

I was that girl, the one that was scared to speak up, to say something. I followed along, knowing all the right Christian things to say and do until I realized that God isn’t out to condemn us for everything we’ve done wrong.

It also showed me to look around. Once after I told my family about my brother. I told my best friend from church. We’d been together since preschool. One of those friendships, you can send an email and pick it all back up. She told me she had been dealing with something similar. We had been right there together the whole time, and didn’t know each other’s struggle. If we had ever spoken out, who knows what would have happened. I know we can’t live in the land of IF ONLY, that we both took the routes we did and has lead us to our current lives. But I do see how speaking out now could show others it’s ok. To open the communications. Build a better church, school and family structure that deals with abuse. Acknowledges it. And more than just a month of awareness. It’s a great start but we have so much more to go.

This movie showed all this to me, it’s basic story line was a professional baseball player being sent home through losing it in one of his games. He was dealing with alcoholism and struggling from abuse from his alcoholic father.

I teared up more than once during this film. I really enjoyed it. Another sports movie I’ve recently watched without my husband. He will be sad he missed it. I probably will be happy to watch it again with him.

Thanks guy! Check out the movie, let me know of any good movies I should check out! I’d love to know what movies inspire you!


When Memories Make You Vomit

So I have not shared many memories of what would actually happen with my older brother, B. Even when I told my parents, I didn’t mention anything but him molesting me. And I think they thought it was just once. But it was years worth of sexual abuse. Its hard for me to remember specifics even now. I think I block it out. For now, I haven’t shared my blog with them. I don’t know if I ever will but sometimes I wish I was brave enough to say what he put me through. That maybe then I would get the validation and support I need. Maybe then too they wouldn’t do all they could for that slime ball. But I think now, I even know it wouldn’t change. They would still think my obviously mentally ill brother, would be their failure to fix. This all goes from one time in a life, to another. I don’t really remember a particular order to things, just as I wrote this, the memories flooded in and I wrote them down.

They used to call us two peas in a pod. Growing up, I thought that described our “special relationship”. I thought thats why we would do stuff I never saw my other siblings do. It was almost comfort. That I was special and even my parents knew that we were just connected together. Now that makes me want to vomit.

They think now I get car sick from motion sickness, and maybe I do but riding in a car in the back seat floods in memories of 27 hour long family visits to my grandparents home. My brother and I, being two peas in a pod would often share one of the long bench seats in my folks huge van. He would enjoy feeling me up under the covers or even just out in the open. Im sure he got some sick thrill doing it in front of everyone. To me, I remember being scared someone seeing, even when I was little and even then didn’t know it was wrong. Finally when I started realizing more how it was wrong. He would do stuff to me and I would physically vomit. I would manage to almost always get the driver seat then, feeling like my siblings hated me for being to ride upfront but for me, I was just finding safety. Soon and even now, its comfort to sit up front, its that same safety. Safety from those feelings, those memories flooding back.

We always were traveling it felt like. I still hate long car rides, gives me too much time to think. But as a big family growing up we would drive everywhere. Luckily my brother was “troubled” and soon stopped traveling with us, living with us. But he would come back to visit, he would often make time for me and his sexual play.

Being a big family, we divide chores. I remember B and I often being stuck doing dishes together. He would come up behind me and be feeling all over me, groping or touching me, kissing me on my neck or anywhere he pleased. I remember my parents walking in several time. But he was careful. He never really got caught. Or my parents just didn’t expect to be looking for anything then. They just thought we where those two peas in a pod.

He spent summers away at basketball camp, it might have just been one. I remember missing him. I remember thinking why he had left me. I think being that young, dealing with sexual trauma. You are over sexualized, later I began to masturbate at a really young age, that I have now read in wonderful blogs here, one I even shared with you that this is normal for sexual abuse victims. But he would come back to visit. He would explain to me that he loved me, that he was sorry he was gone. I still remember the dinning room table we sat at for this conversation I remember clearly because now it brings up the vomit. I remember him putting his hands up my dress and feeling on me. He would sneak in a kiss but I remember he didn’t do so much this time because our cousin was in town.

Even when he had moved out of our house, he was on and off drugs. Drugs I’m sure my parents and family think caused this behavior from him but it started long before he ever began using. But he moved out of our house several times in fact, but he would visit.

Later he started this military type school to help him get his GED, teach him to be a good citizen. He would come home, often even with friends and he would still find time for me, but I didn’t like it by then. But had become scary to me, I felt like saying no wasn’t an option.

When we were younger, he was often left to babysit me and my little brother. I remember once my little brother, N, asking at the dinner table when we were older “is B going to babysit them like he used to babysit you?” He didn’t know what he was saying then, he doesn’t remember it the way I did. I remember being scared that someone would find out our dirty secret. I remember yelling at N, telling him not to talk about it. I was surprised by then he still remembered the difference between the way B babysat me and him. I still is weird to me, he was so young then, did he have any idea. I knew he didn’t know it was happening, I’m sure he was shocked as much as everyone else.

It makes me wonder why I have these “flashbacks,” and not others in my family. Since they found out, did they put anything together. Did they see signs they missed then. Not in a way of, why didn’t you see? But do you believe me? Do you see now? Or am I the only one that has to live this over and over.

But anyways, I think N must have known it was different because when B was babysitting us. B would take me into my parents room and do stuff to me. He would lock the door. And get what he needed. Then he would give us a special snack. Then he would leave. He would leave me to watch my little brother, maybe 3 then. I think that would have made me 6. I remember having so much anger then. I remember at least once showing my little brother a picture of mom and dad and telling him they’d never coming back. That alone haunts me, how my little brothers life was effected by my sexual abuse.

The way I would take things out on him. I don’t know if it was because he was younger. Or because my parents were always concerned about what their fighting with B would do to effect him. And Im like it effected us all. It left me confused, did I want him to go, did I want him to stay. My swim coach, he is french. He used what we call french words…curse words. Half the time with his thick accent you couldn’t tell. But Id always get into trouble for cutting. Im like cursing, really. Thats what you’re worried. about. I knew they didn’t know but I now realize the anger I had, anger I now am used to acting out on. When I was older, Id be mad, It hit my brother. No reason, just start flaying my arms in his direction. I would say mean things to him, hurtful damaging thing, the abuse I was passing onto him. Later, in first years of dating and still now I find myself falling into the same pattern of hitting my husband. I need to get a punching bag. ANYWAYS…

I remember once, B kissed me so hard he ripped that part under your tongue, that holds it to the underpart (where is my college anatomy at now) . It bleed. my whole mouth bleed. That is one of the first times I remember fearing my brother. The pain he could inflict. I still have a lump from how it healed, It reminds me every time I see it.

After that, I remember he disappeared after that happened. My parents had came home shortly after it happened. My mouth hurt so bad, I told them I had somehow cut it. I didn’t tell them of how, they didn’t ask. But from then on he would bring me something, after every time he did something to me. Like it was making up for what he had done.

He would come into my room when my sister was gone or take me into the bathroom. I don’t think he ever actually put it in me, I don’t remember, I don’t want to remember. But I know he made me suck on him and he would go down on me, rub us together. I hate even wording it as sexual terms I would use today. But I don’t know how else to explain it other than that or as just sick. I remember my sister walking in once, wondering why the door was shut and why I was naked. But B said something and it made her stop asking questions.

I still remember, when my little brother, N and I went with B and a few of his friends down to the gas station right down the street from our house. My brother was playing video games with his friends. I was left to chase after my toddler brother. Which of course didn’t work out well, I was maybe 6 and N was 3. I had no control over N, he was just wild that day. He was up and down aisles and of course my brother B was oblivious.

The woman working finally called the cops, for disturbing the peace or something. I was terrified. Not just that we were talking to the police but they would know what my brother had been doing. The Police got all of our addresses, including asking me at age 6 where I lived, I remember pointing to the house right down the road. We were told to never go into the store again.

My brother came home with us, he knew I was upset, he came into my room and gave me bubble tape, stuff my parents didn’t ever buy for us. But it bothered me because I knew he had to have stolen it from the place. I remember asking him if he paid for it and he got upset with me and said something to the effect of course he paid for it. But I knew he hadn’t. He gave me it to keep my mouth shut and I never told.

After that I was terrified anytime the police would drive by the house, which was frequently in a small town. Even in high school once, my mom asked me to go get change for newspaper. I remember just crying and crying and crying. I assumed my mom just thought I was too shy, she was frustrated with me. She thought I was ridiculous but I remember it was the same women that was working just much older.

A few times in college, I did return to the store and the same now old lady, was working there. I am sure I gave her a awful vibe about the guilt I felt for being in the store when I was kicked out., I was sure she thought I was trying to steal something. But even now, Ill just go to the gas station further down the road. Avoid that memory and the memories that come with it.

B would often bring items, items to keep me quiet about what he was doing, later in middle school I started telling him I didn’t want things. I think it made him more nervous. He started giving me cash. But I didn’t want that either. Sometimes I would take it but mostly not. Sometimes I didn’t want the dirty money, sometimes I wanted to make him pay somehow so I would take it. But I would tell him he needed it more for him, I still was so confused about everything. I loved him, he was my brother but hated him for what he did.

I always knew to cover for him. In middle school B would steal money from where my dad would keep the lunch money. I would sneak back at night and put mine back. I would then not eat lunch or bring stuff but I often got hungry and in elementary school and they’d put lunch on “my tab” but of course then it be time to pay up. My dad would ask what I had done with my lunch money. I would normally just say I lost it, he would write out a check for the money and that be it. Once I had a purse full of coins basically, a few dollars. One of the times my I had taken money from my brother. My dad went to the place he stashed the money for lunches and found a lot missing, of course after a time my brother came to visit. Im sure part of it was in my purse from B. My dad blamed me for it. I remembering being so mad and angry that he thought I would do it. That I would steal from him when all I had done was try to put it back. I still didn’t tell on B. I wanted to protect him but also my family.

After that I never took money from my brother. My brother was always surprised, wanted to know why. Im sure he was wondering if I was going to tell, that was what the money was for. But I never did. At least not till I was far, far, 12 hrs away from and the wrath of my brother.

I have told you about the time where my brother was in bootcamp for the marines. I was more involved with my church then. I wrote him a letter that told him I knew what he had done to me was wrong, but that I forgave him because we are all sinners. He never responded to the letter but I knew he got it. He didn’t try anything for years after that. He would still try to give me money, I would never take it.

He was left in charge when I was 16 now I think back, my parents went on a trip (obviously B was not using at the time or my parents wouldn’t have left him in charge). I only remember us being in the house. He first just sat really close, then he tried to “cuddle” me. Then he turned my head around and kissed me. I remember saying I wanted to go to bed and leaving. He said something about oh you don’t want to do that with your brother and I shook my head no. I just remember going upstairs and putting everything in front of the door so he couldn’t get to me.

I just remember crying, thinking of how I forgave him, I told him it was in the past. And he brought it to the present. Why would you do it again? I stayed in my room except when I knew for sure he was gone, and only to get food to live off of, for at least 5 days I missed school. I remember getting to the infirmary at my dads school, to get a note. By then I was suffering from stomach troubles and always have ear infections from swimming. I remember them being surprised to see me without my dad, but I wanted to have some reason for my absence to give my parents and then the school. Then I couldn’t even imagine telling them the truth. They gave me a note, I think more of because of my father than finding anything wrong. I felt so dirty, and even more angry. My parent kept giving B chances, over and over. I had given him a chance over yet he screwed it up. He is good at screwing things up.

I do know from then on I promised to never put myself where I was alone with my brother. Id cry like crazy if my parents wanted me to go pick him up from somewhere. My sister, J, even told me she didn’t feel comfortable being around him anymore. He radiated evil. My parents, didn’t catch on but why would they. I had never said anything, he never got caught, they didn’t know what to look for and I’m sure thought no reason to look.

Sometime after that, my brother showed up high on who knows what. He had never been to physically abuse when he had done stuff to me but he had never hit me before. He was trying to find money anywhere. and I remember him hitting me. I was terrified. He came back later and apologized over and over so I never told. But I saw the kind of rage he can have, and to this day, I think he would love to pour his rage out on me.

But he frightened me even worse. Thats when he would bring home weapons he would show us in the back of the car. To my brothers, it was awesome. Neat to see but for me it was different, it was more like if you ever tell, you see what I have to hurt you with.

I still don’t like going to my parents house. My middle brother K, the fixer, even before he found out what B had done, did care much for B by then. I would call him frequently in panics when I was at the house, K would tell me keep the phone by me and call the police. That he no doubt would have a warrant out for his arrest, to just tell them he was there and he had a warrant out on him. I felt comfort that he knew he was a bad person, even without knowing the whole truth of just how evil he could be. Not like my parents who always see the good in him, or the guilt for not raising him “right”, I still don’t know which. They would just accept the bad behavior as something they had done wrong, or if he just got clean, he would be a good person.

I remember once going to my youth leader in tears about how my parents take such blame in B, that it wasn’t fair. He left our house so early that they didn’t contribute to half of his raising. That it made me really sad in the way that they blamed themselves for how he was. I didn’t explain it then, but to me it had never been about B drug use, or friends he hung out. My brother had always been evil. He had always been wrong. He didn’t do dirty things to me when he was high, he was sober, he knew what he was doing. Knew it was wrong and he didn’t care.

It breaks my heart to this day that my father has just concluded he was a bad father, I remember going with him to church several years after I told him and some famous christian writer was speaking, telling you how important it was to be a strong christian father. And my father cried. It broke my heart, still breaks my heart that he thinks he was a bad example to us. But he wasn’t.

He didn’t know what signs to look for my abuse, I also hid it well, like I have learned is completely normal for incest victims, even rape victims. I never said anything, protecting my abuser, even after I knew it was wrong. I could have gone to my father much sooner and I believe he would have done something to stop it. But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to speak up then. I was scared of my brothers wrath. Im still scared of my brothers wrath.

My father is an amazing man who has lived a hard life, loosing his father at a young age, funeral the day before he started college. Putting himself through college, masters and doctorate. Most of that time having at least 3 kids.

He was always the sensitive one. The one you could talk to about most things and not feel judged. He would listen. He always treats my mom with caring and compassion. He works his butt off, even after he had a life changing accident. He stayed strong in his faith and has been the most amazing hero to me. I try to tell him, as much as possible. I just wish both my parents wouldn’t feel so much guilt about their black sheep, B. He is grown now, it has been his decisions. He knows better and still makes wrong choices.

But I am frustrated now, that he won’t talk about things with me. That he won’t validate my feelings or express he believes me to my face. I have realized, I have had 23 years to deal with this, and live with this and they’ve had about 7 now. That its harder for them, and my family to understand and grasp it like me and might never. That when I spoke up and told, to me I could not take it back. I couldn’t live the same way as its so easy for them to live. And that hurts me, it hurts me every time I bring it up and am basically told to shut up, or am told how well he is doing. Great for him, but I need you to listen to how not great I am doing.

The more blogs I read, I come to realize it is familiar. For the few I did tell they would say “he must have been abused when he was younger”. But I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it doesn’t give him a right to abuse me.

So basically, these are the memories that flood into my thoughts, they leave vomit in my mouth. I can’t forget them. But it feels better to know I am not alone and to explain to those that know me and reading this, it wasn’t one time. It was an awful lifestyle I lived for many years. One I still cope with. That I am struggling. That I need help, I need people to listen and realize, B is bad.

Thanks for reading,


Learning to Go WIth the Honest Truth

Finally, Im finding several other bloggers that understand what Im going through. But this blogger totally hit home. I have lost some friends, well one in particular because she didn’t understand me.

First let me give you the link

Plugging Emotions

She said, “Once any one starts having to keep something secret, it starts plugging up emotionally, until it blocks up just about everything” This totally hits home for me. Those that know me now and even before I told my dirty secret of being molested by my brother know that I never promise not to tell someone. This might seem unbelievable to some but I have to vent. Especially now. I tell them I almost always tell someone uninvolved. But after living with a dark secret for so long, you just don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to start that again, ever.

My college friend C, taught me to always be honest. To put everything upfront and out there. That its better to be honest than to lie to someone. She taught me that you can always be truthful because people can’t stay mad at you for being honest. If they are, you don’t need them in your life. Yes, it may hurt someone initially but in the end they would appreciate someone saying exactly how it is, how you feel, what you think than someone that is just going to lie to you.

Like I said before, I have to vent. Especially if its something I need to think about before really responding. Its hard for me to be an “honest” person. Ive been keeping secrets all my life. I have told people (my parents, my family, my friends) what they wanted to hear or what they needed to hear for as long as I can remember. So now, it doesn’t come easy, but I know its best. I am quick to get angry, (I’m trying to work on that but its a work in progress) so I need to vent. Talk about how I’m feeling then I decided if its important enough to say or not. Unlike my normal vent buddy C, who now has honesty down to a T!

Some people don’t get that, they think I am talking about them behind their backs. I get that, I really do but I never mean it to cause harm. Its just I haven’t learned yet to trust myself. To trust myself with telling the truth, to be honest. I know this blog will help. Finally telling the truth about the past will help me be honest now.

The Church plays into this one. Always told to tell the truth, something I SHOULD have learned early in life. But what if you didn’t know what was happening to you was wrong. Like I said before, I knew not to tell what my brother was doing. But I didn’t fully understand it, I was 5 when it started. I didn’t know it was wrong. Not till I was in 4th grade, when a friend was talking about first kisses. By then, it had happened so many years, it felt too late to tell the truth. I had been living a lie, that I didn’t even know was a lie for years.

Plus they teach you at church and in my home, kissing is for married people or grown ups. Sex, touching, fondling, anything with a guy is wrong. Girls don’t do that. Good girls don’t do that. Your parents say this and you’re suppose to honor them. I knew that I couldn’t tell the truth. That the truth would hurt them. That I needed to protect them. So I kept it inside. 18 years, I kept it all inside. Until I couldn’t anymore. I told my first boyfriend. He told me I had to tell my parents or he wouldn’t stay with me. Eventually it ended, I couldn’t tell. (I don’t count as telling him in earlier blogs because he didn’t comfort me, he just gave me an ultimatum, it never came up again.) The second person I told was my best friend in college, A, my romantic interest, the one I called the night I was raped. The one I knew, knew everything. That would understand my only question, “why does this always happen to me?” He knew. He never judged me for it. He didn’t hold me any different. Treat me any different, love me any different for having this happen to me.

This is the frustration I have with the church. I just think it should be different. People need to expect that it happens. A rough google search, RAINN says “1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (14.8% completed rape; 2.8% attempted rape).” I see that as, 1 in 6 church people have experienced this. Thats an awful tragic number. Thats only WOMEN. The Church needs to talk about this. They need to realize this when they are teaching their children. That this happens and its ok to speak up. Parents, you need to educate your children and give them an environment they can feel free to talk about this and speak up.

Famous response since I told by family and friends, “why didn’t you tell me?” because I couldn’t. It would change me in your eyes. It would make me dirty, evil, wrong, a sinner. When thats anything but the truth. My brother, my rapist, they were dirty, evil, wrong and sinners, not me. Especially since majority of my friends had grown up in the same church environment.

Thanks for reading, please feel free to post or email. I included the RAINN info I just quick checked about the statistics.


RAINN Statistics of Rape