Let’s Pretend is a children’s game. And children are good at playing it. Adults like to play this game, too — only it’s not always for entertainment or proper development. Nearly thirty years ago my husband encouraged me to talk to someone about CSA — or, my story. It was invaluable to me — but for reasons much different than the counselor’s intent. I was so nervous. ‘More nervous than I am to go to the dentist to have a root canal. ‘More nervous than anticipating labour and childbirth. I can’t, I said. I just can’t do that. Well… what…
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It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. I so longed for freedom – freedom from shame, freedom from fear, freedom from having to do things for him in that way. I so wanted to be free from all that — I wanted it to all go away. No more secrets. But I didn’t want to make any problems for anyone. And I think that’s probably the case with most women who endured child sexualabuse and remained afraid to tell – the fear of retribution is just gripping. It’s interesting how twisted things become for love. I so…
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When I was eleven years old I was a young eleven. Certainly by today’s standards, I was a very young eleven. I was a compliant eleven — just the kind of girl who wanted to please everyone. I was just the kind of girl who wanted everything to work out well — to be happy — to be a family. Just the kind of girl one could trust to keep a secret. Initially (and I believe this is most often the case with sexuallyabused girls) I didn’t grasp or understand what was really happening, nor that it was…
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That’s a question I asked myself for a long time. After I told my mother about my father sexuallyabusing me, it would be a long time before I would talk about it again. I didn’t say, it would be a long time before I thought about it again — just a long time before I would talk about it again. And there would be good reason for that — or so I thought. I was sort of under the delusion that if I talked about it one of two things would happen: I would be labeled _____ (fill in the…
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It’s a tough topic – a tough thing to deal with, a tough thing to talk about. And that’s why it isn’t. talked. about. It’s also not talked about because of fear — a deep seated fear of reprisal. It is deep and it is real. I don’t talk about a lot of things specifically here on the blog… you know — it’s risky to share stuff. Once you publicly share stuff, you run the risk of being pegged as something. You know how you say to someone: I love teddybears and suddenly, every gift you receive from then on…
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Maybe you do this from time to time: see a photo of yourself and wonder how could that have been you? Or read something you’ve written and say: I recognize the writing… but how could I have forgotten that!?! Recently, while putting away fresh laundry, I stopped and looked up at photographs I see — but don’t really see — every day. And so there I stood a long time — gazing at the framed photographs that hang on the wall above my husband’s dresser. I was sort of transported back in time and was so longing for those days. …
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Just like an extra hot grandé mocha… the addiction starts a sip at a time. And you don’t even know it. You don’t even realize the cost — just like that steaming cup of coffee — it’s so smooth, so gradual – so available, so everywhere, so chíc. An isolated instance — not a big deal; not a great expense — not initially. Sometimes when I hear the rumble of the caffé steamer I think of the early days of the internet connection tone — choooooooooooo, clang, clang, clang, clang – chooooooooooooooooo, click: Welcome, You’ve Got Mail! Life’s going on…
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There have been times when I imagined that one day I’d be sitting in a circle waiting for my turn to introduce myself and then when the person beside me finished their introduction and small talk, they’d glance at me, signaling my turn, and then I’d say: I don’t know why I’m here or how I got to this point, but here I am. So, hello, I’m pamela and I’m an internet junkie. I used to say (and laugh about it) that one day there’s going to be a branch of medicine dedicated to the emotional problems, effects and disorders…
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Every Thursday morning, like clockwork, our trash-man rolls down the lane to gather this week’s investment in a local landfill from our trash bin. Every two months a billing for this service shows up in our mailbox. Each week, as I shop for our groceries, I realize there are going to be additional costs to these groceries beyond the initial purchase price. I’m going to have to pay to drive them home, pay to store them in the fridge, pay to store them in jars or whatever, pay to cook them, pay to wash the pots and pans, pay to…
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I have written up the story of our son Timothy’s miracle and would like to share it with you. We continue to thank and praise the LORD for this marvelous gift. You can read the story here on our website. And as an update: I’ll begin writing this blog again very soon ~ I’ve missed writing here and would like to return to sharing encouragement, ideas and what the LORD is doing in our lives. I’m continuing to reorganize and reprioritize my life and home. In order to live what I write and write what I live, I’ve had to…