It was suggested to me, Saturday, that I begin blogging again and share my story here. I didn't think too much more about it. Tonight, as my dreams of the ocean slowly changed to hiking up a stream so as to float back down to walking down a rural town street and searching for a computer to share some thoughts about domestic violence--suddenly, I realized that I was wide awake and sleep wouldn't return until I began. Such is the creative brain, at times... *sighs*
My initial sleeping thoughts were about how frustrating it is that so many parents are afraid to correct their children or implement consequences due to the potential for their children claiming that they are being abused and the police or child services becoming involved. Somehow, this correlated to my sleeping thoughts about my own childhood and our family pattern of "women belong in the kitchen, women care for their men, women are subservient." Confused by the correlation? So was I at first, but it was enough to wake me up and get me started.
My father's family was the only extended family that I had growing up. My grandmother was very religious and lived by the bible to the best of her ability. That included obeying the husband--completely. My grandfather was a domineering alcoholic. Perhaps not the best example for how to run a family, but not uncommon, either. They had three children together--the eldest, a son (my father) and two daughters. Not surprisingly, their children also adopted these beliefs and patterns. Women are meant to serve and care for their men--they cook, clean and make babies--they don't talk back, argue, or have views of their own--should any of these notions be challenged, necessary methods would be employed to put the woman back in line.
Childhood. The pecking order. Dad yells at mom, dad hits mom--mom yells at child, mom hits child. Early on, we learn that you listen to your man and do as he says or you get hit. Conditioned early that it easier to be quiet, do as you are told--avoid physical and mental pain. Is there a correlation? Maybe. Maybe not. This is just my story.
Before I get anyone's feathers in a ruffle, let me explain that I have my Master's Degree in the psychology field. I have worked with children, adolescents, and their families since 2000. Often, this is to assist the children and their families with behavioral and emotional issues. I have also done outpatient therapy with adults and adolescents since 2007. I believe that children need consequences to help curb negative behaviors. Sometimes that comes in the form of losing privileges; but as a toddler, a swat to the behind, may at times, work better. To some that is child abuse and never okay--a time out is the only way to go. Many of my colleagues have argued the point that hitting a child leads them to believing that hitting is how you get what you want. There may be some truth to that, I can't deny.
And such were my early morning thoughts. I was calmly walking upstream looking for a happy place to enter the water and float back downstream. Next thing I know, that stream is now a paved road and I am walking back down that hill looking from house to house for a computer. I have the perfect opener for this blog (which unfortunately I lost between sleep and awaking--instead you are left with this mess). All I remember was that the great opener started with children being conditioned to listen or get hit and perhaps for some of us, that is how we end up in situations of domestic violence. My cousin once told me, "It is no wonder we can't make decisions for ourselves--we were never allowed to growing up." She is a product of the same grandparents--her mother, my father's sister. She has found controlling men throughout her life that make the decisions for her--she never learned to. Attempts to change the pattern have led to her going back because she is afraid to be on her own.
My own story? True, enough. That is why I am here at 3:30 in the morning instead of dreaming of the ocean and floating in streams.
For six years, I lived with a man that physically abused me whenever he was drunk, yet was my best friend sober. Many years later, I had a two-year relationship with a man that I would eventually have a three-year PFA (Protection From Abuse) granted by a judge smart enough to see that not all abuse is physical. After a year plus of domestic violence counseling and much heartbreak related to those past events, I have picked up the pieces enough to share my story and hope that it helps people understand how domestic violence enters our lives (no, we DON'T like being hit) and to let other domestic violence victims know that there is hope. The patterns can be broken; there can be a happy future; there can even be healthy relationships in the future.
Mayhaps, this will follow the path of my other blogs... I type, share my story, it floats somewhere in cyberspace--unknown, unread. I am okay with that, too. This is also part of my healing and moving past those hurts. But if perchance you stumble across this blog, feel free to comment and leave feedback--positive hopefully, but feel free to share your own thoughts, experiences or stories.
As for me, this was just to get that ball rolling... Hopefully now I will be permitted to sleep. Until next time, blessed be! :)
My initial sleeping thoughts were about how frustrating it is that so many parents are afraid to correct their children or implement consequences due to the potential for their children claiming that they are being abused and the police or child services becoming involved. Somehow, this correlated to my sleeping thoughts about my own childhood and our family pattern of "women belong in the kitchen, women care for their men, women are subservient." Confused by the correlation? So was I at first, but it was enough to wake me up and get me started.
My father's family was the only extended family that I had growing up. My grandmother was very religious and lived by the bible to the best of her ability. That included obeying the husband--completely. My grandfather was a domineering alcoholic. Perhaps not the best example for how to run a family, but not uncommon, either. They had three children together--the eldest, a son (my father) and two daughters. Not surprisingly, their children also adopted these beliefs and patterns. Women are meant to serve and care for their men--they cook, clean and make babies--they don't talk back, argue, or have views of their own--should any of these notions be challenged, necessary methods would be employed to put the woman back in line.
Childhood. The pecking order. Dad yells at mom, dad hits mom--mom yells at child, mom hits child. Early on, we learn that you listen to your man and do as he says or you get hit. Conditioned early that it easier to be quiet, do as you are told--avoid physical and mental pain. Is there a correlation? Maybe. Maybe not. This is just my story.
Before I get anyone's feathers in a ruffle, let me explain that I have my Master's Degree in the psychology field. I have worked with children, adolescents, and their families since 2000. Often, this is to assist the children and their families with behavioral and emotional issues. I have also done outpatient therapy with adults and adolescents since 2007. I believe that children need consequences to help curb negative behaviors. Sometimes that comes in the form of losing privileges; but as a toddler, a swat to the behind, may at times, work better. To some that is child abuse and never okay--a time out is the only way to go. Many of my colleagues have argued the point that hitting a child leads them to believing that hitting is how you get what you want. There may be some truth to that, I can't deny.
And such were my early morning thoughts. I was calmly walking upstream looking for a happy place to enter the water and float back downstream. Next thing I know, that stream is now a paved road and I am walking back down that hill looking from house to house for a computer. I have the perfect opener for this blog (which unfortunately I lost between sleep and awaking--instead you are left with this mess). All I remember was that the great opener started with children being conditioned to listen or get hit and perhaps for some of us, that is how we end up in situations of domestic violence. My cousin once told me, "It is no wonder we can't make decisions for ourselves--we were never allowed to growing up." She is a product of the same grandparents--her mother, my father's sister. She has found controlling men throughout her life that make the decisions for her--she never learned to. Attempts to change the pattern have led to her going back because she is afraid to be on her own.
My own story? True, enough. That is why I am here at 3:30 in the morning instead of dreaming of the ocean and floating in streams.
For six years, I lived with a man that physically abused me whenever he was drunk, yet was my best friend sober. Many years later, I had a two-year relationship with a man that I would eventually have a three-year PFA (Protection From Abuse) granted by a judge smart enough to see that not all abuse is physical. After a year plus of domestic violence counseling and much heartbreak related to those past events, I have picked up the pieces enough to share my story and hope that it helps people understand how domestic violence enters our lives (no, we DON'T like being hit) and to let other domestic violence victims know that there is hope. The patterns can be broken; there can be a happy future; there can even be healthy relationships in the future.
Mayhaps, this will follow the path of my other blogs... I type, share my story, it floats somewhere in cyberspace--unknown, unread. I am okay with that, too. This is also part of my healing and moving past those hurts. But if perchance you stumble across this blog, feel free to comment and leave feedback--positive hopefully, but feel free to share your own thoughts, experiences or stories.
As for me, this was just to get that ball rolling... Hopefully now I will be permitted to sleep. Until next time, blessed be! :)
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