It is hard to believe we are already in May. I’m at the part of my publishing journey where I feel like I’m on a fast moving unstoppable train. I’ve moved through the developmental editing process and now I’m waiting for my manuscript to come back from the proofreader. I’ve sent my short bio and photo for the book cover (wow, book cover) and now I’m thinking more about the actual physical book. Some days I’m excited and optimistic and other days I’m freaking out and anxious. No matter how I’m feeling on any given day, I’m feeling gratitude always. This journey has changed my life. even if I never sell one single copy of my memoir, the process has healed me in so many ways.
I’d be lying if I said I do not worry about the church and how they will receive what I have documented. I’ve also come to realize that these fears are grounded in my childhood trauma and there is nothing the church can do to hurt me. Writing my memoir has been its own form of exposure therapy. I’ve combed over and over this part of my trauma and that has taken much of the power away from it.
Next steps will be to work on the document when I get it back and then start reading for the audio book. My summer is full already but so is my cup.:)
Well, well, well, I knew it would hit eventually, and now it has. The terrible fall slump. Even with my light box fired up every day, my inner glow feels very dim. Some of my lack of ambition comes from the time change, ushering the darkness in earlier. The brownness of it all also plays a role. The leaves are mostly fallen, and the ground is beginning to look more like mud than pretty leaves. The few snowflakes that have fallen melt almost immediately and add to the muddiness of it all. It is an in-between time, a threshold, a breath before winter.
I wish the change in the seasons was the only thing making me feel this way. November is a hard month for me. A few years ago I suffered a betrayal that broke my heart and now every November I am reminded of what happened. I try to plan for this, knowing that it’s coming, but there are some things you just can’t plan your way through. I’m also doing some really deep trauma work right now. It’s all good stuff but it’s also exhausting.
I’ve said all this to say I just don’t feel like writing. This is very inconvenient. You might remember I’m in the midst of a writing challenge right now. Whenever a thought surfaces about writing or sending out queries, my brain begins to flood me with other options. You could clean that shelf, or put some laundry in, hey…what you really need to do is work on the Thanksgiving menu. As I slump around the house, crossing unimportant items off my list, shame and guilt rise within me. All this leaves me feeling depressed, uninspired, and just wanting to go to bed.
As I’m writing this, I am reminded that there are so many out there suffering way worse than me. The governmental shutdown has hurt so many, and I’m sure the pain is going to get worse before it gets better. All of the terrible political stuff happening in the world just seems to pile onto everything else going on.
Yep, I’m a Debbie Downer. I’m not sure why I’m writing this tonight except to say everything feels hard right now. Part of me wants to work on my current project, and the other part of me wants to write anything else. If you’re having a hard time right now, I hope it gets better soon. I will get up and back on the horse. I might even work on my project before the night is over. I just keep having to remind myself that my best has to be enough, and we all have times like this.
Happy Sunday friends, I hope you’re having a restful weekend. Today finds me feeling deep gratitude for my healing journey. Lately I’ve been pondering shame and blame and how it can stay with us for a long time. Shame feels like a clinger, no matter how hard you try to shake it off it just won’t let go. I’ve been working to heal my shame for what feels like forever. During this time I’ve had to figure out how to separate what shame/blame belongs to me and what shame/blame belongs to others. It might seem like the answers would be obvious but when you’ve been raised in a toxic spirituality that teaches you that you are always to blame it can become hard to see reality. Even when you’ve solved the question of shame it keeps coming back around and you have to keep rejecting what isn’t your to carry.
Putting the shame and blame where they belong doesn’t mean you’re magically healed. I was deeply sad for a long time. I would ask myself, why would a man want to hurt me that way? Why would the church blame me when I was just a child? Why do they still seem to think I deserve to carry the shame of what others did to me before I could consent? If I let these questions get the best of me, I would be carried off to a very dark place. I would be overflowing with self-loathing and depression.
For about a year, I have been working with a very good therapist who really understands trauma. Because of this I have noticed a shift beginning to come over me. I’m not sad about the trauma anymore, I’m angry. This may not seem like much improvement but it is a big deal to me. I finally feel like I’m moving through my trauma again. I was making progress before and then some things happened in my life that caused me to freeze and kind of shut down. Freezing seems to be my preferred trauma response at the moment and once I’m there it is hard as hell to thaw out. So I’m angry, what does that mean? Well…I think it means that my self-loathing has lifted and I’m not feeling so sad. When I think about what happened to me I’m no longer interrogating myself but I’m allowing myself to feel anger towards those who did me wrong. I have no idea how long this season of anger will last, and I’m trying to just let myself feel it. I will release it someday, I’m sure, just not today.
The last couple of weeks have been a challenge. As you know I’m currently writing a book. I’ve been feeling stuck and frustrated with the process. At the same time I’ve been having many fresh realizations. It feels like more and more layers of UPCI indoctrination are being stripped from me. I’ve had mind blowing ah-has that have left me overwhelmed as I’ve tried to process them. I find myself thinking how strange it is that there is still more to be stripped away. It feels like after all these years there should be nothing left, but there is always more.
For decades I have been seeking to better understand what happened to me when I was a child. I’ve engaged with all sorts of ideas that range from Christian to atheist, always unwinding the past and trying to make sense of it all. Writing my memoir has heightened my questioning which in turn has given me more to unwind and process. Writing while processing can be really taxing and so at times I feel compelled to just surrender to the waves. This means stepping away from my keyboard and taking time to just tear the layers away and see what is underneath. Each wave removes another layer and then there is a tiny transformation, I am changed. Some of these transformations bring joy and that is always a nice surprise. Other transformations reveal another layer of anger and resentment. Next, I have to make peace with whatever has been revealed. I have to learn to accept this new to me self that has been buried deep within. During this time I usually end up asking myself many questions, this part can lead me right back to the unwinding stage. Finally when my emotions and questions have quieted down I can find my way back to the keyboard. Hopefully then my transformed self can bring something fresh, a deeper insight to it all. This is often needed as it can be hard to keep revising the same chapters over and over.
My desire in sharing this with you today is just to reach out. I’m still here, I’m still willing to listen and help, and I’m still working through my own trauma. Please feel free to check in and let me know how you’re doing. Now, I’ve got to get back to my book.
Hello and happy February! I’m sorry I have been away for so long. I’ve been spending much of my free time focusing on my book. It is coming along nicely and I can’t wait to share it all with you. I’m not gonna lie, the editing process has been tough. As I dig deeper and deeper into my own story more and more trauma is uncovered. Along with that, the same old trauma is always waiting for me on the page. I find myself wishing I could just let it all go and not have to keep coping with the triggers that jump out at me when I’m alone.
The writing process requires you to ask yourself many questions. One of the first ones is, why are you writing this book? It’s a good question. Why would I want to relive all the pain and trauma I’ve suffered? Why not just ignore it all and move on with my life? The short answer is that ignoring it is never an answer. It is a part of me and not something I can choose not to look at. The longer answer is that I want to share my experiences in hopes that it will help other survivors feel less alone. A surprising reason to write this book has been to bring about additional unexpected healing for myself. Unfortunately, healing doesn’t often happen without pain. I believe that many people avoid healing because they know that the path through it will bring sadness and the facing of demons from the past.
If you’re a United Pentecostal lurking on my page I hope that you will come to see that the damage done to survivors of your organization is long-lasting. It is never as easy as no longer being bitter and just forgiving. Right now as I’m revising my book two things are looming large in my mind. The first one is the Steve Dahl portion. Through the process of revising I’ve come to realize that the damage he caused me is so much greater than I ever imagined. Its echoes have infected all of my relationships with the opposite sex and my entire sex life. That is a high cost to pay for what many have told me is a long-ago event that I should just get over. It has been heart-wrenching to write about, but what came after was almost worse. Calvary Gospel church and the way they treated me is unforgivable. Writing it all out and seeing it all through my 53-year-old eyes and understanding has brought about a clarity I never had before. I will never understand how grown adults who are supposed to be part of a faith centered on love can just turn their backs on a child. It was mean, petty, and life-wrecking. Writing about it makes my chest literally hurt. A blackness follows me around when I spend too much time focused on these parts of my book. I dissociate and have to remind myself that I have value and I’m worthy. The UPC church can seem very loving until it isn’t. If writing my book can save one person from that heartache it will have been worth it. In the meantime, I battle my demons. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose.
The second monster I cope with while writing is the Book of Revelations monster. Thank goodness for EMDR therapy. https://www.apa.org/ptsd-guideline/treatments/eye-movement-reprocessing. Without it, I would not be able to write about the rapture and everything that goes with it. That being said, this doesn’t mean that I’m not triggered or that it isn’t scary. I’m not afraid of the rapture I’m afraid of my memories of being taught about it. When I write about it I get that same pain in my chest and a sense of dread follows me for days. These ideas planted in my mind before I even went to school have been with me for as long as I can remember. Visuals pop into my head unbidden and then it can take days to chase them off into the corners of my mind. They’re not gone but they’re not threatening to take over anymore. It is during these times that I wonder why the church focused on hell and the end times so much. There is so much you can teach a small child about god and the Bible. Because the scary stories of the Bible were taught to me so young they took over my mind and everything else about god seemed secondary. Who cares about all those Sunday school stories when we are talking about a god who might throw me into a lake of fire to burn forever. It’s like talking about a serial killer and everyone wanting to focus on how he bakes good cookies. It just seems like the cookies don’t matter if he might slit your throat at any moment. I’m choosing to go through the trauma dredged up in this part of the book for survivors as well. I’m going through it for all the little girls afraid to sleep at night. Afraid they might miss the rapture. I’m writing it for all the adults I know who still fear being left behind. I see you and you’re not crazy.
I’ve been rambling. I’m sorry. When I write about the traumatic responses I experience I get flooded. It can be hard to write as clearly as I want to. If reading this has triggered you here are a few things you can do:
Call a friend who understands. At times we just need to be reminded we are safe.
Get outside. I like to put some happy music on and go for a walk.
Yoga, or some other kind of movement. Yoga really helps me to slow my breathing down.
Cleanse your mental palate. Watch a funny TV show, work on a craft or project that requires concentration, or do something social.
This is going to be a short post but I had to stop in and recommend this podcast episode. This episode explains my experience with this film series perfectly. He also explains what Christian parents were thinking and doing at the time when this film series was released.
Whew the last couple of summers have been challenging. Many of us in the survivor community have had to be brave in ways we never thought possible. Looking back it makes me beam with pride to see all we have accomplished. I have not seen the kind of justice I’d like to see but I feel good because I know I’ve worked hard to bring forth as much justice as possible. I’m tired but I’m not going to quit because this work is too important to me.
Speaking of rest, I have taken time over the last few days to strive less and rest more. I’m in the midst of a fibromyalgia flare and I’m once again reminded that I am not invincible. My eating disorder has popped back up probably due to stress and so I’ve had to be mindful to fuel my body. I’ve been struggling to sleep well so I’ve had to give myself some grace on the days I sleep later than I’d like to. All of this work has a cost and right now the cost is my sleep, my ability to eat, and the flaring of my chronic pain disorder. I’m not trying to come off as complaining but I’m trying to be honest about my personal limitations. I’m grateful that I can fill up on time with my children and grandchildren. I’m lucky to have two sweet doggos who are always up for a snuggle or a game of fetch. When I’m on my own I try to remind myself to breathe deeply and show myself self-compassion. Self-compassion is key to remaining healthy when doing work that is triggering due to trauma. I’m also working toward leaning into my softness and not feeling like I have to be in self protection mode all the time. This is especially difficult due to the C-PTSD I suffer from. Trying to heal while being hurt by the process of your work, being triggered daily, and never feeling like you’ve done enough can really throw a person. I wrestle every day with the drive to keep moving forward and also the desire to cut myself a break. This week I’m trying to be on the side of giving myself a break and resting.
This blog post is about what comes next so I suppose I should let you all in on what I have on my agenda. I’m currently working on revisions for the book I’m writing. It is exciting and taxing. I’m loving the process and I can’t wait until I have something to show you! I’ve also been considering what I’d like to research and share with you all here. The church teaching that caused me the most stress as a child was the theology of the rapture. I intend to talk more about that here and on my Youtube channel as I unwind the teachings that I took in as a child. I finally feel like I’m in a place with my trauma where it is safe for me to do that. After that I’d love to dive into the idea of original sin, but I feel that is a ways down the road. What would you like to see discussed here? Do you have a trauma sticking point you’d like me to cover?
Lastly, thank you. Thank you for sticking with me for so long as I work through my childhood and try to gain justice for myself and others. In some of my toughest times your comments have helped to see me through.
The last 24 hours has been very difficult for myself and others within our survivor community. We have been in the midst of an investigation being conducted by the United Pentecostal Church Wisconsin District. That investigation has wrapped up and the outcome is about what we all expected. John Grant was given probation for a year and he confessed to what amounts to breaking their rules regarding licensing. They claim they can do nothing about the fact that he covered up crimes against young girls that occurred when he was both pastor and district superintendent. The reason given is because there is nothing in the manual that states protecting children is an expectation for pastors. As you might imagine I have feelings about this. I will ask for grace from you all as I try to unwind how I feel about this outcome. I’ve spent much of my day in tears and dealing with hang up calls. I feel threatened even though I have no idea if the calls are from congregants or not.
The biggest problem I have with this outcome is the fact that survivors were not at the center of it. We went in and gave testimony to men we did not know regarding very personal and traumatic subject matter and they did nothing with all of the info we gave them. So why did they need our testimony? It is public record that Glen U. was arrested and sentenced and that he was a minister promoted by John Grant. John Grant went to court and testified to all of that. So they could have done all of this without us, right? Well no, they needed someone to make a complaint before they would act. They also refused to pay for the trial transcripts claiming they were too expensive. So we did what they asked and all he got was a slap on the wrist. It is my opinion that he should have lost his license and the whole church should have had to deal with a visit and reprimand from David Bernard. If asked they will claim there is nothing they can do and I just don’t believe that. If centering survivors mattered to them they would have demanded that John Grant not only apologize for the rule he broke but also apologize to us. They would have offered some ongoing support for survivors therapy because lets be honest we all know they have the money. They would have made a phone call or met with us in person to answer our questions rather than hiding behind a certified letter. When they asked us to come in person we did but when it is their turn to be vulnerable they hide like scared children. They recorded us as we told our stories and then they hide from us because they are afraid of what we might say about them. If they cared about survivors salvation as they claim to they could create survivor safe services, meaning a church service only for survivors in a non-church building location. In the end their reply was cold and sanitary, all by the book.
John Grant did not confess or apologize for promoting Steve Dahl. He was district superintendent when Steve was sent to Brother Bridges church in Neenah. Steve was allowed to lead a daughter work and was even included in the directory. John Grant knew that Steve had molested two girls, myself included, while he was at the Madison church, and still he was welcomed back with open arms. He was shown grace that they never extended to me. I am done extending any grace to The United Pentecostal Church. I have jumped through their hoops and entrusted my case to their Safe Church program. They have proven to be all talk and no action. We wanted consequences and for them to take responsibility. Because what he did to the survivors wasn’t even considered in my mind we got nothing. I feel burned by the entire process and it will take a very long time to heal from this fresh trauma.
My heart has been stirring for the last few days as new allegations of sexual abuse and misconduct from within the United Pentecostal Church have come to light. Sometimes it seems never ending and somedays I tell myself that I’m too tired or angry to speak but today is not one of those days. April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I feel that this is the perfect time to remind people that behind all of these stories is a real victim/survivor and their families. I watch as people spar over what the Bible says and who is a licensed minister within the UPC and who is not. I watch as David Bernard ducks and weaves to avoid being held accountable for what happened within the organization he leads. In the midst of all of this people discuss whether or not the victim is to blame and some sling arrows saying things like, “It takes two to tango.” I wish I could say that I am surprised but I am not. From my personal experience the UPC will never miss the opportunity to blame the victim and support the perpetrators. I believe it is all about money and saving their precious reputation. Nepotism has long been a problem within the organization and they do not seem to be in any hurry to solve it. They definitely are not in a hurry to take responsibility when their sin is brought out into the light.
Minors cannot give consent and cannot be held responsible for the thoughts and actions of adults. When I was abused within the Madison Wisconsin congregation I was 11 years old and very modestly dressed. I had never held hands with a boy and actually did not really have much interest in boys at that point. I was an innocent and none of that kept me safe from an abusive man and the pastor and others who did not report it to the police. I did not cause this grown man to fall into sin and neither did any of the survivors who followed after me. The other thing that isn’t often talked about is the lifetime of pain and trauma that awaits survivors of sexual abuse. It isn’t a little thing. It changes who you are and for many of us it drove us away from the church. We became the focus of gossip instead of being the focus of love and compassion.
When I think of these new survivors and all the ones who came before I send a little prayer out to the universe. I wish them love and compassion, healing and wholeness, understanding and friendship. I hope they have someone in their lives to tell them it isn’t their fault and if they do not have a person like that I hope they find my blog. I am grateful for those who continue to drag these stories out into the light. I am also thankful for those who continue to fight when I cannot. I may not always say thank you but I see your work and I appreciate your support.
“You’re not a victim for sharing your story. You are a survivor setting the world on fire with your truth. And you never know who needs your light, your warmth, and raging courage.” — Alex Elle
National Child Abuse Hotline Call or text hotline: 800.422.4453
I’ve been thinking about survival. Before writing this morning I asked myself, “How did you survive when things were so awful?” When I was a child and teen I had a very rich inner life. When I was a little kid my imagination helped me to go to other places in my mind. Most of the time this was a good skill although sometimes it would lead me into imagining hell and other scary scenarios. At times I would get stuck in a loop and it would be almost impossible for me to escape these imaginations. It was like a virus that had to run its course. Now I understand that it was trauma. Often escaping these cycles of thought required something stronger to override their power.
On good days I would imagine myself as Wonder Woman. My bike would become her invisible plane and I would fly through the neighborhood solving crimes and kicking ass. When I close my eyes I can still go to that place. I can still feel my bike beneath me and the wind gently sweeping across my face. When I allow myself to go to that place in my mind immediately a smile creeps in. My bike was freedom. It was a way for me to work out all of my frustration and pent up anxiety. Those endorphins are good medicine.
Physical exertion has always helped me cope in difficult times. When I was a child riding my bike along with other things like gymnastics and hitting my tennis ball against the wall could help me get out of my head. I never enjoyed gym class but it wasn’t because I hated exercise. It had more to do with the social dynamics at play and being forced to participate in team sports that I did not care for. I have never really been comfortable with competition. During gym class I was often picked last. My family did not care much about sports so I had little exposure to things like football and baseball. My parents enjoyed solitary sports and my father enjoyed boxing. They instilled in me an appreciation for being outdoors and competing against self vs others. My father in particular was always pushing me to run farther and faster. He would shadow box with me and I was fond of playing with his boxing equipment. Jump roping was another activity I enjoyed. I would count my jumps to see if I could beat yesterday’s number.
Luckily for me I had a very creative mother and she instilled in me a love for art and music. Art in particular helped me to escape the sadness that permeated every part of my life. I could lose myself in a flow state. I could spend all day drawing or gluing popsicle sticks together. I played with clay and always had tons of coloring books around. To this day when I need to shut my brain off for a bit I will color in my adult coloring book.
Music was another thing that supported me when life was too tough to take. I have always enjoyed singing and my mother would sing with me at home. My father was very sentimental and he always had music on as well. I liked some church music but secular music was so much better. Church music just reminded me of things that made my anxiety worse. It is true that listening to “worldly” music would bring about a sense of guilt but the happiness it brought made it worth it. Secular music offered me a chance to escape into the world of the song and imitating the artists allowed me to try on different identities. It did not take long for musicians to surpass television and book characters as the focus of my escapism. I spent so many afternoons singing into my hairbrush imagining being anywhere but my bedroom.
Fast forward to now and my coping mechanisms are the same. I would like to say that they are all good but that would be a lie. I can still go inside my head and lose myself in my inner world. Sadly it is not always friendly inside my head and I no longer see myself as Wonder Woman. Going too deeply inward can often turn into dissociation. It is like I’m not really present but floating above my body or just outside of the frame of my life. Disconnected from what is happening right in front of me. It isn’t that I have anything terrible to escape but it has become a coping mechanism I employ in order to handle anxiety. Suffering from Complex PTSD means that as good as life gets I always have to remind myself that I’m no longer living the life I lived in the past.
Television helped me to handle the lonely days of childhood and it can still help me at times. I have to be careful because it can become a numbing mechanism, keeping me from being present. I realize that it was a numbing mechanism when I was a kid as well, but survival requires doing what you can to get through. Now I have other better ways of coping and so I have to remember that. What works best is being mindful. Mindful of which television shows I watch and that applies to other things as well, like podcasts. By choosing things versus just numbing out it helps to keep me present.
I still love to exercise. Moving my body helps to keep me sane. Just like when I was a kid, endorphins are great medicine. I can tell when I haven’t moved my body enough because my anxiety becomes really high. Exercise allows me to shut my brain off for a while and just be in my body. Not floating above like when I’m dissociating and not numbing out either. It is like my brain becomes still, which is not a state I can easily achieve. My body gets to release all of its pent up frustration and anxiety. Even as I write this I can see how I separate my mind from my body instead of seeing myself as a whole being. Fractured is the word that comes to mind. It probably would not surprise you to know that I view myself as broken. I have to fight that thought and feeling. Yes, I have C-PTSD and that makes me different from most people but it doesn’t make me broken. I have to work very hard to send my poor injured brain love instead of berating myself for not being “fixed” by now.
Creating art is probably the most pure thing in my world. I still use it as a coping mechanism but at the end I have this beautiful piece of expression to hold in my hands and enjoy. The act of using my hands to create soothes my anxiety and allows my mind something wonderful to focus on. If left to its own devices my brain just naturally wonders to a sad place, that is my set point. Sometimes it is depression and much of the time it is just a result of my lived experience. Creating helps me to breathe deep and lose myself in that flow state once again.
Music is still so dear to me. Some of my only happy memories involving church revolve around singing and music. My husband and I recently went to see The Avett Brothers in concert. Nothing beats being in the midst of a crowd singing along to your favorite song. I often come away from these shows with aches and pains from dancing and jumping around to the music but it is worth every bruise. Music is a double edged sword. It can heal or hurt depending on what I hear. Hearing hymns or the dreaded Thief in the Night song which shall not be named can trigger me in pretty profound ways. Songs get stuck in my head and it can be VERY hard to get them out, that being said nothing heals like music can. It can erase my anxiety and help my mind to shift when a trigger threatens to overwhelm me.
“One little song
Give me strength to the leave the sad and the wrong
Bury safely in the past where I’ve been living
Alive but unforgiving
Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go”
Souls Like The Wheels- The Avett Brothers
It’s funny how I’m still that little girl I used to be. I still use the same coping mechanisms to survive. Someday I would like to see myself as thriving and not merely surviving but I’m not there yet. When people ask me how I made it through my childhood it can be hard to answer. Some of it was the methods I mentioned above, some was luck, and some was a toughness gifted to me through my parents. Yes, things were very hard but they could have been worse. Especially when you stop to consider how often I was left unsupervised. In many ways my life is a miracle. I’m here and I’m safe.
If you are a survivor I hope you can hear this next part very clearly. If you need to numb or dissociate to get through whatever you are going through do not beat yourself up. Are there better coping mechanisms? Sure, but sometimes you can’t reach them for a whole host of reasons and so doing the best you can today is ok. I am 51 and I have been working on healing myself for a long time. We are not all in the same place and so wherever you are I’m glad you’re here and I hope that tomorrow is a better day. When I speak about my own survival I am not judging you for where you are in your journey towards healing.
Debbie McNulty 