A story I don't really want to tell...

The third appointment was the hardest one yet...and the whole reason that I am writing out my journey down this road... This is full of just broken thoughts and pieces, and I am sorry for the choppy writing. I cannot quite find words to say what I need to say...

I thought that I was going in for a purely physical fix to my problem.

It is called physical therapy right?

Well I forgot the therapy word was in there.

Most my appointments go with me doing exercises on my own, kegel mostly while working on other parts of my body, shoulders, back, etc. After I am done with those, Joanna stretches out the muscles in my hips and then works on other muscles in my back, shoulders, neck, pretty much where I am tight. The goal is to get my body to relax and release all the tension so that I can have sex without dying.

Let me tell you, I have a love hate relationship with the muscle portion of the appointment. She is very gentle to your muscles, trying to just get them to relax and release the tension and built up knots on their own. Which is the love part... the hate part is this...

I did not know you could hold so many emotions and broken pieces in your body. I thought emotions were purely in your head that that is where they stayed...

That is wrong. And if you want to argue that with me, talk to my back every time I stretch it how tears come running down my face. Or how after she corrected my neck and stretched my spine out I broke into a million pieces and could not hold it together for the whole next week.

I have been to therapy for the things that I have been crying over. I have cried nights and nights, months of tears for the things that I am crying about.

And still they keep coming...

Please read this next part of my story with a little bit of respect, knowing that I have never really fully shared this with most of the people reading this. It is not something that I enjoy talking about. It is not something that I want to share. I do not share it for your sympathy or for any other reason than the fact that it is important. Because I know that it has happened to more people than I can possibly know. I want people to know that they can talk about it too. I want people to feel safe and loved and know that it happens to others too.

When I turned 18, I found that the world did not give me the freedom that I felt I earned. I got good grades, I followed all the rules, I went above and beyond what was expected of me at every turn. I went to college early, I didn't go out and party on the weekends, I read my Bible almost daily, I went to church every single week, usually more than twice a week. I made it to 18 without kissing a boy, even though I was with someone for about 2 years. I did it right. I am not saying that to brag, I am saying that because I was a stuck up little prude who followed the rules and the worst thing she ever did was prank the boys hotel room while on a trip with the youth group. And even at that, I was the lookout because I couldn't actually do the pranking without freaking out.

But I just found that the rules placed on me were harder than before. More responsibility was given, yet zero freedom was given in return. I felt trapped.

I broke up with my boyfriend of 2ish years right before I turned 18. He was verbally, emotionally, and mentally abusive. I do not say this lightly. I could not speak to any boys. I could not text boys without first sending him the text, getting his revised version that he wanted me to say instead, and then waiting for a response from the boy, and starting it all over again. I could not get mad or hurt or upset about anything because it was always my fault. "I did that because you did this and this and this." If I made him mad, I got hours of silence in return for my trying to make things better. If I made him really mad, he would just threaten to leave me somewhere with no transportation. I was never "giving him what he needed." I loathe words of affirmation, because he shoved it in my face to literally make me tell him all the things that I loved about him while I was hurting and broken by his actions. I ended things because I could not take being made to feel invalid and invisible any longer.

We were young. We were immature. I am not saying that I did everything right, but I am saying I walked out a very very broken woman. But I also walked out with a, "I won't take sh*t from anyone, if you don't like that get out of my way" attitude.

Well I found myself liking this guy.... totally different from my first boyfriend. 5 years older than me, had a car he bought himself, had a job and did great at it, showed up to work on time, worked hard.

He would text me back. He took my honesty. He talked about the hard things with me. He understood the broken and just let me be.

I told him from day 1, there will be no kissing, no sex, nothing of that sort. NOTHING. AT. ALL.

I remember conversations with him telling me, I like you for more than that, a guy can want to spend time with you for more than sex, I am okay with that completely.

I slowly found out he was a man-whore. I mean that to the very extent of the word. His number of women at 23 probably exceeded double digits.

I also found out after everything that had happened.....that he also was trying to see how long it would take him to bang the virgin with most everyone we worked with.

One night we are just watching a movie, nothing fancy... And he kissed me. I was not happy. AT ALL. I had been saving my first kiss for my wedding day. But all he said was, "It was your job to make sure I didn't."

Well after that happened I was just like, well its done now so I guess I am kissing people.

He was so nice to me... He would take me on picnics and we would ride our bikes together a million times around a lake just to talk. He had me try new things, like rock climbing and riding a motorcycle. He never got mad at me, he never ignored me. He was sweet and romantic.

Then one night I find out that my grandma's cancer had come back again and this was probably it for her because she barely survived it last time. I was devastated. I go over to his house to cry and talk...

I find him semi-drunk and very happy to see me.

We talk and I cry a lot... and we end up laying in his bed kissing. And things went down hill from there. I do not want to talk about the specifics because it is still very real and hard for me to talk about. Nothing happened to me, but it almost did. The terror that I felt in that moment, the fear of not knowing how I was going to stop him from screwing me, how was I going to get away from that situation. I can still feel his hands in places that I do not want them in. I can still feel the weight of being pinned in a bed. All I could think of at this moment is, don't let your fear show so he won't fight you getting away anymore. Leave without letting him know how you are terrified or he will push further.

Here are the thoughts that I think that you are thinking right now and why I hate talking about this:

You kissed him and you knew he was drunk...what did you expect?
Nothing actually happened, so what is the big deal?
You liked him, so what was the problem?
He obviously didn't rape you so where is the problem in it?


Here is what I wrote in my journal over and over again a few nights ago.

I did not ask to be kissed, I did not want that. I did not initially want that at all. Sure I kissed him after that, I own up to that. But in the end, he did something I said a very firm no to.
I did not want the sexual advances. I wanted to be comforted and instead I got grabbed and smashed and violated.
I said no to sex. And he pushed. And touched where he was not invited, and tried to push where he was unwelcome.

These things happened to me. By someone I trusted, cared for, shared my emotions and heart with.

I hated myself. Literally hated myself. I would drive and scream at the top of my lungs and cry until I had no more tears. I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't tell my parents that this had happened because I didn't want to answer questions or get in trouble or being in that position. I hated that I let myself be in that position. I couldn't take what I knew people would tell me, nothing happened get over it you went there it isn't that big of a deal you weren't actually raped.

I talk to a counselor. I worked through things. I talked and talked and talked until I was blue in the face and my eyes fell out from crying.

Imagine for a moment not being able to get close to anyone again without the fear that they would rape you. Imagine not being able to be trust anyone because what if they tried too? I couldn't trust anyone because I trusted him when he said, "I don't want to have sex with you, I can want to be around you without wanting to hit that." I couldn't trust myself to believe those words again.

I still get flashbacks... When my husband, who is safe and loving and kind, touches me in the same way, I have an anxiety attack and cannot breathe or move. I am always looking over my shoulder, I am always on edge. I am overly self-aware so that I don't give anyone the wrong ideas ever again. I live(d) in fear. And silence. Because who would understand?

Here is the conclusion that I have recently come to:

If someone does something to you that you do not want, it is assault. It is trauma to you and to your body and mind. Unwanted advances are assault.

Keep reading that until you believe it. Keep saying it over and over again until in your heart of hearts you truly believe it.

I am still trying to take hold of it myself.

What happened to me, has had a profoundly negative physical effect on me and my body.

Joanna says that we hold things in our muscles, women hold them right in their hip muscles. Trauma especially. Our body is trying to protect itself. That is all it knows. Flight or fight. Don't let this happen.

Emotions are not simply in your heart, they can be held in your muscles as well.

This is already a long post so I will end with this and pick it up later.

If you have ever had anything unwanted happen to you, it is not your fault. You do not have to carry the blame for it. It is not your fault. And it is okay that it was traumatic to you. Accept that so that you can work through it better. Do not try to down play what happened to you. Let it effect you and get help for it.

I am here to listen or answer questions if you want to know more.

Just because someone has it worse, does not mean that you cannot be broken by what happened to you.

What makes time the healer of broken things?

Time. What is it? Everyone says that it is supposed to heal us, but what makes time the healer of things broken?

It has been two years. Two years since I got married. Two years of the schedule of a submarine, two years of my roller coaster of depression, anxiety and the like, two years of figuring out how to be a married couple, how to run a home and survive the real world.

Time has passed.

You might remember my blog post about painful sex… If not, I suggest you read that first (click here).  I was full of hope for the first time since I got married.

Then I saw an OBGYN for this. You know what they said, you will be fine, use a dilator you are fine just takes time to get over.

Crushed does not even begin to describe the feeling that I had. It does not touch the sinking feeling in my stomach of devastation. They tested me for STDs and sent me on my way. A test that I knew I did not need and one that cost me a lot of money.

Depression came like a floodgate. It is hard to keep your head above water when you feel like you don’t even feel that you deserve the right to swim. I can’t blame it on that doctor’s appointment because I know it would have happened anyways, but it was the tipping point for months of despair and anguish.

Two years of feeling like a failure. Two years of struggling with sex… When I say struggling I don’t mean an occasional feeling of annoyance or frustration. I mean sobbing and spending nights in the fetal position on my bathroom floor and literally not being able to breathe from the pain in my heart.

Did you ever lose someone important to you and the heart shattering that goes along with that?

That feeling in your heart and the physical pain felt in your chest from your heart being ripped apart, imagine nights and nights of that.

Imagine that fear that your marriage may not last because this has caused such division and self-loathing on both ends. Imagine that you love someone so much that it eats you away inside every night. You go to bed with a simple kiss because the thought of even trying to be intimate with one another brings so much apprehension in both your hearts.

He doesn’t want to hurt me. And he knows how much I hate myself every time that I cannot. He is discouraged and there is nothing I can do about it because I can offer no hope either. I start to hold resentment in my heart for the fact that he cannot feel my pain, resentment that he is causing it. I know in my head that he is not the cause, that he is not doing it on purpose. But the heart is harder to convince when it is only feel deep pain. I am just being honest here because someone out there needs to hear this. Needs to know that it is normal and you will survive. I tried not to be resentful…I usually find peace again in the morning, but those feelings still sit there, waiting to pounce again the next time you try to initiate anything.

I hate it. I hate that I fail. I hate that my body fails. I hate that I cannot be close to my husband in this way.

I honestly cannot tell you the last time that we tried. It is too hard on both of us.

But then that burden still sits there on both your shoulders. You feel the pressure to fight this and not be in a sexless marriage. Because where is the fun in that? Where is the deep soul bonding that comes from that? Sure we can talk until we are blue in the face about all the things that our hearts hold, but it is a connection that you cannot get any other way. But at the same time you feel the defeat in the air before you even try and it kills you a little bit more each day. And it slowly starts to separate you and pull you apart, until you finally break and hope all the pieces land in each other’s laps.

I am at my wit’s end. I have faced the door of defeat so many times that I cannot even bring myself to walk down the same hallway anymore. God has seemed to be silent on the matter. I felt like He was just sitting there watching the struggle without offering to help.

Then a few months ago this happened...

I went in to see my primary care physician who is a wonderful caring woman and a phenomenal doctor. I just needed to switch my birth control because I was no longer happy with how it was effecting me. So I went in and they were telling me about all my options and I made a passing comment to the nurse that sex was painful enough as it was, I did not want anything that would make that worse.

Well she told my doctor.

And that woman is amazing.

She came into the room to finish talking with me about which option I would like for birth control and then immediately said, “You should not be living like this, this effects your quality of life and I am not okay with that. Can I refer you to a physical therapist?”

Can you what?? You mean there are people who do that? There are actual physical therapists that specialize in that on this island?? And you want to send me to one??

YES! A thousand times yes! Please!

She cared. She cared enough to get me help and find me help. When the first physical therapist turned me away because she didn’t deal with that directly, she found me someone else. She fought for me. She went to bat for my marriage. And this isn’t the first time that she has fought for me like this. She fought to get me help for my depression. She is always fighting for me. And I will be forever thankful for that. I don’t think that she will ever fully understand how much I appreciate her.

She was the beginning. The start of someone hearing my pain and helping me in a real way. And I just felt this ray of light shining down into my heart and peace feeling that God had not abandoned me, just simply was waiting.

This is the start of my journey. This is the start of my healing. This is just the beginning and I hope you will walk this journey with me.