Let's talk about sex...

My mom wasn't ready for a lot of things when it came to my growing up. As a mother now, I can somewhat understand, it's difficult when your babies stop being babies and they grow into a new phase of life. We aren't always ready for that. But I've learned that it's much better to stay a step ahead, instead of meandering behind the curve.

We never had "the talk". Well, my mother attempted it once, when I was 16, but it was a disastrous attempt. And quite frankly, by the time I was 16, it was much too late. She and I were in the parking lot at K-Mart, about to go inside for some shopping when she asked me if I had any questions about sex. I was mortified. No, I insisted, I did not have any questions, I already knew everything. She seemed shocked. "Everything? What does that mean? Have you...?" "No Mom, I haven't! Now please, let's drop it." Mercifully, she did. K-Mart parking lots are not optimal locations for beginning sex talks with your teens.

You see, in my family, we didn't talk about sex. Ever. I didn't know the proper terms for body parts until Doc started molesting me and told me what they were. I got my formative sex education from him unfortunately. I wish my mother had set aside some time to sit down with me, in a normal setting, to talk to me about my body, and a man's body, and the mechanics of sex as well as birth control. And, that conversation should have started when I was much younger. But, that didn't happen.

My sister was the one that let me in on what a period was. I didn't get my period until much later, when I was 16, which was probably what prompted my mother to suddenly decide that she needed to have "the talk" with me. My sister in earlier years, being seven and a half years older than I was, told me all about them. The monthly curse, she called it. Told me about pads and how long the bleeding lasted and about monster cramps and bloating. Lovely. I was also told that my mother would not allow us to purchase tampons because we were maidens and nothing was supposed to go up there until our wedding night.

I didn't quite get that logic, and neither did my sister. My sister did eventually get my mom to allow her to purchase some on occasion if she was going swimming but my mother wasn't thrilled about it.

My sister did get "the talk", about the time that she got her first period. She related this experience with me, and it wasn't great. Most kids are a bit embarrassed to talk to their parents about sex, that's normal to an extent. My mom gave her some Christian based book about being feminine and told my sister that sex was "pleasant". To this day, my sister and I will giggle about things that are "pleasant".

The other place that I got my early information about sex was from the church. It was preached that women should always give in to their husband's desires, unless it was for a time of prayer and fasting that the two of them had agreed upon beforehand. If a woman denied her husband, it was a sin, and she was setting him up to have an affair. If he had an affair, it was fair game for him to blame his wife for being unavailable or unattractive to him. There was absolutely no room for sex outside of marriage, or for masturbation. Masturbation was an evil because of the possibility of your thought life during the act being questionable and sinful. Homosexuality was an abomination, and often the result of demon possession.

There was a great deal of pressure put on all of us girls in particular to stay pure. Purity culture is not a new thing, it's a very old thing. I know, I lived it. As a girl, it was my responsibility to save my vagina for marriage at all costs. It was also my responsibility not to cause any of my Christian brothers to "stumble" by how I dressed. If I tempted them by my dress, it was my fault that he had impure thoughts or had pressed his desires upon me. It's a lot of pressure.

A lot of pressure.

By the time I was 12, I still considered myself a virgin, since Doc had not, in my view, raped me yet. In my IFB viewpoint, because he had not penetrated my vagina with his penis, I was still a virgin.

Looking back now, that is not at all the case. Making another person perform oral sex or performing oral sex on them is rape. Masturbating another person or having them masturbate you against their will is rape.

But, my sheltered upbringing did not prepare me for what was going on. It would have been good to have the following information:

1. What were the proper names of body parts?
2. When is it ok for someone else to touch your body?
3. When is it not ok for someone else to touch your body?
4. What is oral sex?
5. What is masturbation?
6. What is anal sex?
7. What constitutes sexual assault or sexual abuse?
8. What is menstruation?
9. When can a girl get pregnant?
10. What are STI's and how do you prevent them?
11. What is an orgasm?
12. What happens when a woman orgasms?
13. What happens when a man orgasms?
14. What is pornography?
15. What is homosexuality?
16. What is abstinence?
17. What is casual sex?
18. What are sex toys?
19. What are the slang terms for various types of sex and body parts?
20. What happens when a woman gives birth?

Please parents, I implore you, talk to your children about all of these things. And start young. Always use the proper terminology with them for body parts. From the very beginning do this. Predators will use your child's innocence against them if you don't do this. As the child grows and starts asking more direct questions, provide direct answers. By the time your child is ten, they should know the answers to all of the above questions.

You might be thinking that you can't address all of that with your child without being embarrassed by the subject matter. 

Get over it.

If you don't do it, someone else will, and you may not approve of how they school your child in sexuality. Trust me, I've had the talk now four times and in a couple years will have that talk with my daughter. Each of my sons have had lengthy discussions with me about sex and we have laid it all out on the table. It's a subject that we can go back to at any time when they have any questions. We have an implicit trust between us that I did not enjoy with my parents. When my sons have had any sexual experience, I have been privy to it. They can tell me anything, without fear of judgement from me. Trust me, it is better to know what is going on with your child than to not know.

I've also made sure that my son's know that No, means No, in any circumstances. I don't care if the girl is stark naked and you're in bed with her if she says no then you stop. They know this, they respect women and would not force themselves upon a woman. 

Edited to add: They also know that it is important to have consent and that only yes means yes. Thanks for pointing that out Jen. :)

Having boys has taught me that they are responsible for their thought life, and only they are responsible. They are responsible for their actions, and only they are responsible. 

Oh, and one other thing I've made sure to discuss with my sons, is the importance of giving their partner an orgasm. She cums first. I've been very detailed about the female anatomy with them and I hope that by doing so, they have happy, healthy sex lives in the future. 

Being the children of a midwife, my children are surrounded by sexuality and birth. Pregnant women and their nurslings come in and out of our home on a regular basis. They are well versed in the nuances of pregnancy and birth. They view pregnancy and birth as a healthy function and not a disease to be treated, but a condition to be monitored and supported. I believe this to also be an essential part of their sexual education.

In closing, talk to your children about sex, every aspect of it. Don't be afraid of the subject! Everyone, even precious little Johnny or Sally, will have sex at some point or another in their life. As with all things, more knowledge is better than none or not enough. Talking to them about sex is not going to make them sexually active or promiscuous. It will empower them about their own body.

Mr. Hotstuff

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Let's hear it for the boys!

I wrote a post a couple weeks ago about the ten things I want my daughter to know. I have six children, five of them are boys, and one of those boys is my stepson. I wanted to write something to each of them, so this may be a bit long, my apologies a forehand.

I didn't want children when I was younger. I really didn't like kids. If I was going to have children, they would be girls, and I would have two. If my husband was really insistent, I might acquiesce to have four at the max. But all girls. No smelly, loud, disgusting boys. I made a bargain with God when I was 14 that if I didn't bite my nails for an entire summer that He would never give me stinky, rude, obnoxious boys.

God apparently didn't understand the terms and conditions of our deal.

Raymond, my "ray of sunshine" you have been my hero so many times I scarcely know how to express my regard for you. You helped usher me into adulthood, weathered so many trials and tribulations with me, and were the hapless guinea pig of my early parenting attempts. The first one always gets the brunt of the bad, I believe, and you were no different. I really did try my hardest to be a good mother, always with the most noble of intentions, and doing all I could to do the best by you. 

The first time I saw your face, nuzzled my nose into the softness of your newborn head, breathed in the new baby smell of you, I knew, perhaps for the first time ever, what true undying love and devotion meant. I caressed your tiny hands, counted those sweet little toes, kissed your little mouth and nose and promised you I would never stop loving you. I swear, I heard Roberta Flack singing that song, "The first time, ever I saw your face" in my head when I held your tiny six pound body close to me, and laid there alone with you in that hospital bed in Allentown. I wasn't much more than a baby myself, but we would learn together Ray. You gave me the gift of motherhood, you taught me so much.

You taught me about the healing power of love. I thank you. Your presence brought about changes in my life that you weren't aware of. Your Nana, who was not happy that I was having a baby, even up to the day that I was in labor with you, suddenly found her world began revolving around you as well. You helped my mother and I forge ahead in our fractured relationship, our mutual love of you helped heal many wounds that we had inflicted upon each other. 

You are the only one of my children that my beloved Pappaw got to hold. He died just after Taylor was born, but looking at the picture that I have of my grandfather holding you in his lap while he thoroughly inspects this "young feller" is a memory that I will cherish forever. He loved you Ray. He would have loved all of you kids.

Your sweet laugh, your love of winnie-the-pooh (which we watched a thousand times as you sat there in the red rocking chair that had been passed down to me from 3 generations past), and your adoration of your granddad was a blessed sight to behold. I can still hear 2 year old you struggling to say the word, "light" complete with extra l's. 

The face you made when you first ate macaroni and cheese as an older infant is burned into my mind and still makes me chuckle. Your illogical hatred of all things cheese is still a bane to my existence today. Somewhere, somehow, I went wrong.

I can see you, all of three years old, fishing pole in hand, on the banks of a pond with your pappy. I watch his face beam with pride as you catch your first little sunfish.

I remember you in Montana, the day that you went hiking up the big "M" mountain in Bozeman, sack lunch in hand with the gentleman who owned the ranch. You were mighty big stuff that day, and came home feeling like you'd conquered a mountain, which you had at age 6.

Your bond with your brothers, your first day of homeschooling, the first book you read, the first book you wrote (beary bear was excellent my dear, I still treasure that book), your first day at public school, watching you talk about your first girlfriend, and your last day at public school, all of these things I have had the privilege to witness and behold. 

I witness the tenderness towards your little brother and your sister that makes them so lucky to have you around. I watch you scoop up your little sister and hoist her effortlessly onto your shoulders to tote her around when her little legs get tired and in that moment she thinks she's queen of the world. She knows you've got her, and nothing can touch her up there.

Your goofier moments have made me shake my head, sometimes in wonder, sometimes in bemusement. There is never a dull moment with you Ray. How many parents get to say that their son got lost walking back home from a friends house and ended up a few miles away while he carried a bastard sword in its hilt on his hip and had to call for help to find his way? Has anyone ever heard their son say offhandedly, "I work better with penis." in answer to his not knowing how to answer a question about the brain as if this was a normal thing to say?

Even now, as a young adult, I take pride in you, son of my youth, as I watch you forge ahead through uncharted waters.  You took a leap by joining the Army and discovered it was not for you. You soldier on, now looking for work and signing up for college, an experience I had very little of and I am so glad you are now pursuing. You're going to make it Ray, I believe in you, you are made of strong stock and have a resilience that few people your age possess. You are a fine, upstanding young man, and I'm so glad that I'm your mother.

Taylor, my stubborn little surprise...so much to say. Despite my being on the pill, I still conceived you. Your birth was so difficult, what with you being determined to keep your face forward. You were a true face presentation and at the very end of my labor I was afraid I'd lost you, or was about to lose you by how low your heart was dipping. You came out battered, bruised, blue, then screaming within seconds, with very little hair and a ton of baby fat. You looked like a little Winston Churchill that had just been in a brawl. I was often tempted to stick a top hat on you and prop a small stogie in your mouth to complete your look.

I thought you were the handsomest baby boy I'd ever laid eyes on.

Your infancy was probably the toughest of all of my children. You got colicky for several months and nothing I could do would give you solace. If I had known then, what I know now, a trip to the chiropractor would doubtless have given you much relief, but I did not know, and I did my best not to throttle you when you kept me up all night and then kept me from eating anything even remotely warmed up for all of those months.

I remember when you became mobile. As with everything else, you had to do it your own way. No standard crawling for you, no sir! You crawled commando style, belly close to the floor, forearm over forearm for miles and miles across a vast array of surfaces.

In your toddler years, you got RSV and had to be hospitalized, twice, once while I was pregnant with your brother Joseph and ill myself. I still wouldn't leave your bedside. I would be damned if I would leave my child alone with any doctor, ever. You needed breathing treatments for the next couple of years and insisted on being in your superhero cape that Nana had made for you, and sported goggles to complete your ensemble.

You and Ray became best of friends. You and he were always getting into some sort of minor trouble, and I enjoyed it. Your rough and tumble play was refreshing and beautiful. Watching the two of you romp around in the rain, shirtless, splashing and getting muddy was always the highlight of my day when such occasions would present themselves. Your love of splashing got the two of you in some big trouble when you and Ray flooded your Nana's entire downstairs, causing over a thousand dollars in damages. 

At 7, you tumbled out of the second story window while watching Peter Pan upstairs in your room. You laughed so hard that you fell backwards into the screen and it gave way, plunging you into the prickly holly bush below, which probably saved you from breaking something. When I opened the door to go find you after Ray's frantic cries alerted me that you had fallen out of the window, you were standing there, crying, scratched up and missing a shoe, but otherwise intact. I wasn't sure whether to kill you or kiss you, so I hugged you tightly instead and checked you out head to toe to be sure nothing was broken.

When we would travel with your adoptive Dad, you soaked in the sights and scenery of new places. You absorbed every historical sight, every grand redwood tree, every new opera, every national park or monument, every new food, and of course every English and European castle, as if you were a barren dessert being soaked with a deluge of rainwater. You questioned everything, and everyone. You stood up for yourself and forged your own path, much to your adoptive Dad's chagrin and much to my delight. You are your own unique person, and you embrace that. It's such a gift to have that self confidence, I envy that in you.

You're a great listener, a great talker, and have such an amenable way about you that you put everyone around you at ease. How many hours have we logged in just sitting around chatting with each other, sharing you tube videos, talking politics, religion, the necessity of feminism, the injustices of the world,  and ways to potentially either make the world a better place, or place it under your thumb of total master-mind world domination?

I've held you when you needed comfort over scraped knees and through sick, fever-filled nights when you were a little boy. I hugged you tightly and felt your sorrow when a girl first broke your heart. I've seen you grin with pride when your sister asserts herself without apology,(I'm fairly sure she got that self confidence from watching you). I've witnessed you laugh until you cried while hanging out with your brothers, watching movies, or just sitting around telling stories. 

You have returned the favour for me, hugging me and making me laugh when times got tough after your adoptive Dad moved out. You've reassured me in the past when I've wondered out loud if I screwed up all of my children's lives. You've forgiven me of past wrongs and humbly apologized when you messed up. We move on together you and I, and keep no tally book betwixt us of offenses, real or imagined.

You are wiser than your years, and have been a wonderful son and now a fast friend as you become a man. I look forward to all of your adventures in the next 17 years. I wonder...Where we all will be then? Of this I have no doubt, we will still be close, and you will still be close to your siblings. 

Oh, and you are still the handsomest second son I have ever had.

Joseph, another surprise that was most welcome. I didn't think I needed you. I didn't know how I was going to provide for you, how I was going to be able to hold it all together for you.

I was wrong. I needed you, and I and my parents provided for you at first, and you held me together by needing me and loving me. When I was at the height of suicidal depression as my marriage fell apart, you saved my life by your very existence. I couldn't hurt me, without hurting you, and so I didn't.

I was seven months pregnant with you when I left your biological father. You never knew him, you only ever knew your adoptive Dad as your Dad. Your bio Dad just was not in a place to be a father at that time. You know that story, so I won't get into that, but just know that you were always, always wanted by me.

Your precocious little grin and proclivity to get into all sorts of artistic trouble kept me on my toes. From the various ways that you "painted" the walls, to the infamous powder incident which I now understand Master Taylor had a hand in, you were always into something. Your curiosity of how the world worked, how different things felt, sounded, and tasted was infectious. You could blow bubbles for hours and swim til exhaustion set in and you'd fall asleep wherever you happened to flop. Your unending energy as a preschooler caused me much tiredness and also much elation.

Watching you learn how to ride a bike for the first time with your brothers and your Daddy helping made my heart leap for joy as if I'd never beheld a similar sight. Seeing you colour, or draw, or paint and viewing the pleasure that you took from such activities was amazing to watch. How many times did we all put up with Mulan back to back marathons? I don't know, but I loved that you loved this movie about a fierce warrior woman.

We tried homeschooling, didn't we, my little lifesaver? It didn't work for us, but oh how we tried. You were the child that caused me to suddenly realize that I didn't know everything when it came to educating my children. So many tears from both us, my feeling like a failure as a mother and teacher, and your feeling overwhelmed and stupid was crushing to both of our spirits. I finally realized that going to school was the best thing for you, but I feared for you, that you would flounder there.

You didn't flounder. Once you got settled in, you started to find your niche and you made your own way. You grew slowly, awkwardly at first, and then steadily stronger and more mature. Your struggled academically more than your siblings but you have never given up and your Dad and I worked with the schools to help you as best as we could. You made friends, you fell in love, your heart broke, and then you found new love. I watched and continue to watch this as you now prepare to attend high school and I am proud of you.

And yes, I love that we are so close that I can come to you with all of my "woman" troubles. (sorry Joseph, just had to bring that up, no not sorry, had to bring that up)

It warms my heart to see you playing with your younger brother and sister. You make Emma laugh and you get her to rough house play with you, and  then she gallops around and climbs all over you, and you take it all. I watch you with her and I know that you'd do anything for her. She is right to completely trust and love you. You are an excellent big brother. You and Daniel out in the yard, shooting bows and arrows or your throwing knives is your way of helping him develop confidence even if you aren't aware that you are doing that.

How can it be, that you, my tow headed little boy with the infectious laugh and proclivity to climb any object in sight, grew to be the tallest in our house? Can you really be over six feet tall at age 15? Will you really be driving next year? How did this happen? And how can it be that you, even towering above me, can melt all the days cares away by wrapping your lanky arms around me and telling me that you love me? You're pure magic my son. You are an ethereally bright star in my galaxy, and I thank you for being you.

Daniel, your Daddy and I wanted you so much. You came into our lives just under two years into our marriage. You were my first home waterbirth. You were my easiest labor of all of my children. 

I nursed you the longest, this time because I had the necessary support, education, and experience to make it happen. You refused a bottle and refused to leave my side except for very short periods of time for the first three months. I was a little frustrated with this, but I also enjoyed it so very much because I was the center of  your universe. Parenting books will often say that babies think they are the center of the universe, but I haven't found that to be true. Babies are still a part of their mother for that first year, and together, they are the center of the universe. You taught me to set aside any selfishness for me and focus solely on your genuine needs and wants. 

Just as an aside: Your Nana Charlie thought you were the prettiest baby she'd ever seen.

As you grew, we traveled to England and lived in Leeds for four months while your Daddy performed Tosca at Opera North. You would jump and jump and jump until you fell asleep in the "johnny jumper" that we installed in the doorway to the living room. Daddy took to calling you his pumpkin roller and we dressed you up as a pumpkin for Halloween that year when Nana and Granddad came to visit us from America. We returned the next year for more adventures in England and toured the countryside and some of Europe in an old Mercedes station wagon with your brothers.

You used to love to mow the lawn with your Daddy, spending many hours on the tractor and behind your little push mower. I can see you even now, cowboy hat planted solidly on your head, cowboy boots clonking along as you made your way around the yard, all business, nothing to see here, lawnmowers are supposed to blow bubbles. 

You too loved to play in the rain and mud with your brothers, and they wholeheartedly welcomed you into that favored pastime with them when it came around. My oh my but how impressively wet and dirty you could get in such a short amount of time!

You have always been jovial, deep thinking, laid back, and quietly unassuming. But you are smart as a whip and love a good joke or a bad pun. You are really the sweetest boy I've ever known. You haven't gotten into any major trouble yet but if you ever do, I'll still love you.

We've spent a ton of time watching TV and movies together. We have similar tastes in both venues and I always look forward to our times to just sit and watch and chat. Playing video games with you is always a blast and we need to do more of that.

I know you've had insecurities and anxieties about school. I'll never forget you chasing me down in the parking lot as I dropped you off at school and the principal catching up with you to drag you into school. You're a stubborn little guy, but I admire that. That sort of fortitude in spirit will benefit you in the long run. I hated leaving you that day, you were so upset. I cried the whole drive home and most of the morning. We pulled you out shortly after that and did cyber school. You went back to school, and then we pulled you out again due to some more anxieties that you were having. And yet, you are willing to try it again next year. Good for you Daniel! You can do it! You have so much to offer the world and you are always well liked by your classmates and teachers. I know you will be a success.

You are my favourite guy to go shopping with. You have better taste in accessories and shoes than most women do. None of my other boys have ever asked me if they can go with me when I go clothes shopping and truly meant it. We have a blast together and I enjoy our conversations. As you are getting older, and your interests deepen, I am enjoying you more and more on that level. You are going to make someone very happy someday when you get older and ready for a lifelong relationship.

You are always willing to try new things and you put your heart and soul into everything that you do. I think about the times that we have gone fishing, or camping, and how much you enjoyed those things and helped out as much as you could. You're the one kid I have that I don't have to obsessively nag to get things done and I appreciate it. 

You spend inordinate amounts of time with your little sister, putting up with her prattling on about so many things that you must have the patience of Job. You really enjoy each other, and employ a special bond that you two will carry well into your adult years. That's a precious gift my son, you have your little sister's heart ensconced securely in your care to the point that she trusts you and your brothers completely.

Thank you for the gift of your smile, your laugh, your, "How ya doin' Ma?" in the mornings and your willingness to work when others complain. I'm looking forward to watching you as you mature and can hardly believe that in another year you'll be a teenager! I love it, I've enjoyed all of your brother's teenage years and I'm sure I will yours as well. You're going to love it to, I promise!

"Little" Taylor, this is what your new step-siblings have designated you as. We have another Taylor in our house and it just makes it easier in conversation to tell who we are talking about. I realize that you are not the youngest, and are in fact 16 years old. The "little" part refers only to your slight stature but not to your age or to your strong will. I find it amusing that your middle name is Winston, after Sir Winston Churchill, and your step-brother "Big Taylor" had that as his nickname for his first year of life.

I have not known you as long as I have known your brothers and sister. I have not always been in  your life. Before me, you had a wonderful Mommy who from what I gather, doted on you and wanted you as much as I wanted all of my babies, perhaps more so because she had waited until later in her life to become a mom. She and your Daddy didn't waiver in their decision to keep you as your mommy's pregnancy progressed and they found out that you would have special needs. Down's syndrome can be a uncertain diagnosis for families, but you were blessed to have both a Mom and a Dad who loved you and accepted who you uniquely are before you were born.

I know that your Mommy fell in love with you as soon as she saw you, your Daddy has shared as much with me. I know that your Daddy felt so distinctly bonded to you that the intensity of his emotions overwhelmed him. (He confided in me that right after you were born, he went to see Armageddon in the movie theater and cried like a baby, he was still so raw.) I know that your Mommy traveled hundreds, thousands of miles to and from work in Manhattan to be at your side while you were in the hospital at Hershey. Your Daddy made the same trek, albeit somewhat shorter, from his job in Wind Gap to be at your side as well for those many months.

I've seen many pictures of you as you were growing up, from tiny little preemie with tubes and wires keeping you alive, to an infant coming home with breathing apparatus' and feeding tubes, to toddler years and growing physically stronger. Your Mommy Cheryl, and your Daddy are in a lot of those pictures, holding you, caring for you, soaking in the wonder that was you. I know they had some difficult times as you faced surgeries, procedures, and various therapies. I know that caring for you was and is a full time job that often involved a full time nurse but I haven't ever gotten the impression that they ever viewed you as a burden. You were a joy, you were a possibility, you were their beloved son.

As you grew, they sought help from many varied sources and professionals to help you develop your brain and your skills to as much potential as you could. To this day you enjoy a special organic diet rich in nutrients and fats to keep you healthy and strong. Your Daddy, homeschooled you with a special program to help you progress further. How many hours did you two spend on your hands and knees, crawling a circuit around your house, over hand-made ramps that your father made you just for that purpose? How many books did your Mommy and Daddy read to you to stimulate your mind? How many sounds, tastes, smells did they gently introduce to you to arouse your senses? I'm guessing too many to count.

I didn't know your mother. It's possible that I saw her in church but I don't recall. I was married to someone else then, and I did my best not to notice or be noticed by anyone. I was in survival mode. But, I wish I had known her. She must have been a phenomenal woman, with flaws like any woman has, but absolutely the perfect Mom for you. I know your Daddy loved her very much. I am sure that she never thought that she would become ill with cancer and pass away, leaving you and your Daddy behind. I can't imagine that was a part of her plan.

I'm saddened sometimes when I give you a bath and you are splashing around and giggling loudly at the bubbles and the motion of the water. I have a passing thought where I feel guilty that she isn't the one there to be laughing with you, that instead it is I, a total stranger to her, now caring and mothering her son. In those moments, it seems so unfair and sadness overwhelms me. It may sound silly but I have even spoken that thought out loud to her, apologizing for my presence in your life but genuinely thanking her for the gift that is you. She isn't there of course, as I believe that she is in heaven and is no longer in pain, enjoying being in the Glory and the wonder that we as mortals cannot fathom. But, I still have felt compelled to say those things audibly anyhow. Someday, I believe I will be able to meet her and thank her in person for the opportunity to be your step-mother, and for her helping your Daddy to become the excellent husband that he is today. She and your Daddy did the hard work, they paved the way and I now enjoy the fruits of their efforts, sometimes feeling wholly unworthy to partake, but extraordinarily blessed to be doing so. I feel so grateful to her.

I don't know you yet as well as I know your brothers and your sister, but I know that I love you. You may not be biologically mine and I will never be your biological Mommy, but I will always be whatever you need me to be. Nurturer, caretaker, Step-Mother, comforter, tickler, cuddler, cook, laundress, all of this and more is what I offer to you. I will try my best not to let you down. I love you just as if you were born to me, of this fact never doubt.

I remember that you were hesitant about me at first, which was natural since we don't know how much you totally understood about what was going on with your Mom when she passed. That must have been confusing to you, for your mommy to be there all those years and then suddenly she was not. Then a few months later there was this strange new lady in your Daddy's life, which was me, and you didn't know quite what to make of that. But you came around in a couple of weeks to accepting my presence, and then the first time you came to my house you cuddled up right away to big Taylor and settled in on the couch next to him, insisting that he put his arm around you.

I love cuddling with you Taylor. I love it when you swing around the clean laundry and twirl in circles. I love it when you get pushy about getting a drink or needing to eat and guide me out to the kitchen to prove your point. I love pushing you on the swing outside and taking walks with you when you get restless. I even find it funny when you wrap your arms around my neck and act all sweet and then suddenly yank on my hair and laugh hysterically that you shocked me.

I look forward to many more years with you in my life Taylor. I promise I won't ever be a wicked stepmother (except perhaps when you do that hair pulling stunt, it's funny, but not cool man!).

In closing, God didn't give me rude, stinky, obnoxious boys. Ok, maybe sometimes they are stinky...but what I got was a house full of amazing children, predominantly male in nature. I needed boys apparently. I needed to experience how gentle, strong, loving, loud, tumultuous,and extraordinary boys and young men can be. I needed to learn to appreciate the differences between boys and girls and to not be afraid of those differences. I was meant for this, being a mother to so many boys and to my little girl has been the greatest undertaking in my life. I don't regret having any of them, and I'd do it all again. Large families can be close-knit, they can be loving, and they can be well-adjusted even in the face of adversity and sorrows. I think we're proof of that. God has been good to us, I'm glad He didn't keep his side of my silly deal.

When the abused minimize

About four years ago, after my now ex-husband and I had completed a year and a half of couples counseling with a Christian counseling organization, I started seeing a counselor on my own. Our marriage was essentially over, but both of us continued on for a while longer, floundering forward, trying to rebuild from the ashes for the sake of our children and to keep our vows, our sacred covenant with each other. I had never gotten any sort of therapy or counseling for what had happened to me before this.

The reasons for my not receiving care are many. When I first told my parents of the years of Doc's abuse, they offered to get me help, in their own way. They wanted me to go see my pastor about it. I refused, in fact I asked them to please not tell him about it. I was ashamed and didn't trust my Pastor (rightly so). My mother offered for me to go speak to her best friend, who had a background in social work, and I refused that as well. I told them that I was ok, and that I didn't need help. They took my word for it. So, my mother sought help from a cognitive therapist for herself instead. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that she got outside support, it's just a very bizarre reaction looking back at it. 

However, this was not an uncommon reaction to this sort of situation within the IFB. Keeping it hidden and allowing me to lie about how unaffected I was, was easier than facing up to the fact that I was so damaged. My Dad asked me if I wanted him to go to the police. I told him no. I told him I didn't want to hurt Doc's wife and his family. He brought it up to our Pastor despite my protestations, and our Pastor counseled them to respect my wishes and not bring charges against my abuser. He also offered to counsel me.

My Pastor was an inappropriate option for counseling, but that would be a standard and typical response within the IFB church to do. He was inappropriate for the basic glaring facts that he was a man, and he was a man with power within the church with no background in sexual abuse counseling or therapy. My mother's best friend was also not a viable option as I didn't trust that she wouldn't go to my mother with whatever I would tell her. And the other reason is that I had been brought up believing that therapists and psychologists couldn't be trusted. Depression, anxiety, mental illness, trauma, those were sin issues, not anything more. Only the most severe of disorders were seen as something to be turned over to outside mental health workers. I didn't want to be one of those nut cases.

I convinced myself, for many years, that I was fine. That I was strong, and that it was not that bad. It was only three years after all. I told myself that I could put up with the periodic nightmares, bouts with depression, anxieties, and flashbacks. I avoided triggers as much as possible. I bottled up my thoughts and feelings on the matter. I convinced myself that it could have been so much worse so I should be thankful for that. I told myself that I was only raped once, so that was not too bad (this was also a lie, but I will expound in another post). I never told my parents that I had been raped. I felt it would be too much for them to bear. This is quite common, since children frequently don't tell of the abuse or don't tell all of it in an effort to protect their parents. I told only a handful of my closest friends what had happened, and even at that I was careful with my disclosures. My pride didn't want me to be seen as a victim by anyone and I didn't wish to shock or offend or be pitied.

This is classic minimizing.

If it's not, "that bad" then it can be managed. It makes it less real, less painful. It's one of the human brain's way of protecting itself. Minimizing, dissociation, "patrolling my borders" (not allowing myself to be vulnerable or fully loved), and compartmentalizing my feelings/experiences were how I protected myself.

My counselor pointed this out to me, that I had minimized my experience to a tolerable level when she had me write out my story to her. When she read it, she told me that my story was horrifying and that she didn't know how I had remained as sane as I was and how I hadn't turned my back completely on Christianity. She asked me, "How is it that you still believe?" I told her that the alternative, that there was no God, was a concept that was even more horrific to me. That's not to say that I haven't had my doubts, my fears, and my anger towards God. I have had all of these, and occasionally still do. I am human after all.

By the time that I started seeing my counselor, my nightmares had returned and insomnia had overtaken me. The stresses of my marriage had triggered the memories back to the forefront. I had never put into words what had happened. I had never outlined the timeline, put names, circumstances, and scenery to the story of my abuse. I had never before told anyone everything. I had been silent, and I had been silenced. She wanted to help me find my voice, to help me to view my abuse as it was, not how I and others had whitewashed it to be.

If my family is reading this now, they are finding out for the first time the details of my abuse. We've never talked about it much. It isn't light dinner conversation and frankly I am better at writing it out then speaking of it anyhow. I don't bring it up, they respectfully, do not bring it up. There is nothing to be done about it at this point anyhow. What's done, is done. I enjoy a decent relationship with my family so to me there is no point picking at old wounds. My parents have already told me that they wish they had handled things differently, and that is enough for me. 

The statute of limitations is long gone. Proving my allegations would be difficult now, some twenty five years later. It doesn't make them false, it just means I will never have justice for myself and anyone else that he may have hurt. The best that I can hope to do, is to use my story to educate others.

God forbid, that if your child ever comes to you and tells you that they have been abused, please get them help. Don't ask them, as minors, what you should do. Even if they are an older teen, as I was, realize that they do not have the maturity to be fully aware of the life consequences of refusing therapy and not filing a police report. I know I did not. Be a parent, be an adult, take the reins, and get them help. File a report with the police. Contact any organization that the abuser worked for and let them know that a report has been filed with the police. Then demand that the person who is being accused is kept away from children during the investigation. 

Get your child a victim's advocate. Get them a licensed therapist with experience in the field. If your child needs to talk about the abuse, let them. If they aren't willing to go into specifics, don't force the issue. They can deal with those things in therapy, and like it or not, for at least a short time they may feel safer addressing the specifics with a non-relative. Don't take that personally. You are there to support them, and to advocate for them. If you show them, by your actions, that you believe them and are there for them, it will allow them to trust you and eventually confide in you. Assure them that they are not alone and that they have nothing to be ashamed of.

You can expect that there may be some changes in your child's behaviour. Perhaps they already had some of these behaviours before the reveal. Bring up any potentially damaging behaviours (drug use, alcohol, reckless sexual behaviour, bullying, skipping school, cutting, smoking, eating disorders, etc.) to their therapist. They can work with you and your child to help your child to learn better coping mechanisms for their pain. Your child may need medication in addition to therapy. This is not a sign of weakness, or a heart issue, or a sin issue. Accept the medication. They may only need it for a time, or they may need it long term.

If you go to your Pastor and he doesn't immediately make sure that you are going to the police, leave that church. Report that Pastor. A Pastor is a mandated reporter. By not alerting authorities they are breaking the law. They are required to contact children and youth within 48 hours of hearing about or witnessing child abuse. When I came forward with my abuse, it was 2 years before clergy were added to the list of those who are mandated reporters. So at that time, legally, he was not required to report it. Ethically, morally, I believe that he was. He lives with the knowledge that his silence hurt not only myself and my family, but who knows how many other children that Doc had access to over the years. As far as I know, he never notified my former Pastor in Ohio. If he did, they are both culpable.

If your child trusts you enough to come to you with what happened to them, above all, love them. Accept where they are in their journey to healing. Cry with them, be angry with them, hold them, give them space when needed. But in all things, love.

Two pink lines, a reason to spiritually abuse and coerce?

It was the middle of July in 1994, the year I had graduated from high school and turned 18. My fiance William, who was just shy of 20, was sitting out in his parent's car, waiting for me to come out of the convenience store bathroom. We were planning on marrying in another 2-4 years, depending on when he and I finished our college/higher education. I sat in the end stall of the public toilet, jeans crumpled around my ankles.The first response pregnancy test was firmly clutched in my fingers as I watched the moisture race up the inner test strip. 

One line.

Now two.

Shit.

I got up from the toilet  and set the test on the back of the toilet, simultaneously pulling up my drawers and pants while tearing out the package insert. "Read the results after 3 minutes." it said. 

I looked at my watch. One more minute.

A minute later, still two lines, though now definitely darker. I started to tear up, and the all too familiar nausea that had accompanied my crying since I was 10 began as well. I quashed both the crying and the nausea as I was so versed at doing by now and stuffed the plastic wand into my small black leather purse.

Outside, I got into the blue Grand Marquis's passenger side and sighed. Garth Brooks playing on the radio, the faint smell of upholstery cleaner, old cigarettes, and Will's Drakkar Noir wafted around me inside the car.

"Well?" William asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

"I'm pregnant." I said, pulling out the stick with the offending lines to offer as proof.

"Fuck. Our parents are going to kill us."

"I know." I did start to cry then. Heaving shoulders, sobs of brokenness and anguish. I'd ruined everyone's life. I had no idea how to be anyone's mother. I was a slut. I was bringing disgrace and shame onto my parents.

William softened, and pulled me over to him, "It's ok, baby. We'll figure this out. I love you." He held me tightly and cried with me, and I know he was just as terrified as I was, but he tried to act like he'd take care of everything and it was all going to be just fine. I let him lie to me on this, the lie was better than the glaring truth.

Over the next week Will and I spent a ton of time on the phone when I'd get home from the bank where I worked as a teller. I had just gotten this job a few weeks prior, and it bored me to tears but was better than McDonald's. My parents thought it was a grand opportunity for me, though the pressure to chose a Christian college for was crushing. I'd been offered scholarships at BBC, Pensacola, Clearwater, and Bob Jones Perversity (oh sorry, University). Their preference was BJU, mine was BBC if I absolutely had no choice. What I really wanted to do was follow my best friend Keadren to cosmetology school and give that a try. My parents had begrudgingly agreed to let me work for a while before I chose, but they expected me to enroll and start at a Baptist Christian college in the spring semester at the latest. 

The prospect of shipping off to Bob Jones Penitentiary was more than I could bear. I'd been to BJU, walked the halls, the grounds, slept in the dorm rooms, ate the food, met the students and a lot of the faculty. We went to BJU yearly once I joined the choir for competitions held on the campus. Bob Jones still had barbed wire around some of the walls of the compound at the "fortress of faith". Freshman weren't allowed to leave the campus. Demerits were given for so many minor infractions. A strict dress code was in place. Mandatory Bible classes, church attendance, and chapel services were a must. Interracial dating was specifically banned. Rumors of covered up sexual offenses swirled around the institution. There was also this weird courting parlor place for people who were dating to go to to be observed by faculty while they were eating together to be sure no physical contact happened between the sexes. 

I very much felt like my parents desperately wanted to send me off to there so they could "fix me" and so that I would find someone to date other than William. I had a streak of rebellion in me and a simmering anger towards them and our church that I couldn't quite place my finger on as to why it had become so palpable in that last year or two.

On Friday, I sat on the asphalt in my parents driveway beside William's car in the only shady spot available, beneath the large carport at the front of the house. My parents weren't home. We needed to plan.

"You know, there is one other option, and I hesitate to bring it up..." William sheepishly started. "If you wanted to do that... I'd support you, and I'd help you pay for it."

"I know. I just..." my voice trailed off. 

"I know, I wasn't even sure if I should even say anything about it."

"No, I  understand, it is a legal option. And we're both over 18 so our parents wouldn't have to know. I get the appeal, trust me, I do. I just can't. I can't kill it. It's not its fault that we messed up."

"We didn't 'mess up', Jen. All babies are God's blessings!" Will straightened up a bit, offended. "I'm actually kind of excited about this."

"You're an idiot." I took out a cigarette and lit it.

"You shouldn't smoke, it's not good for the baby." he scowled.

I looked around him at the bottle maker's mark on the floor of the beat up '84 Mustang I had recently bought him. He saw what I was looking at and narrowed his eyes. "It's Rainbow's." He insisted. 

"Sure."

(Rainbow was actually his friend "Rambo" - also not his real name- who did have a drinking problem but was a good friend of his. Unfortunately, Rainbow shared his booze with Will all the time.)

"Besides, what I do doesn't effect your body or my baby." he stated, shoving the bottle further under the seat.

I took another drag. "Well we can't hide this forever. I'm tired all the time now and I was a little sick this morning. My mom is bound to notice."

"You've been smoking while living here with them for over two years and they haven't noticed that."

"That's different, I'm careful. My smoking isn't going to manifest itself in a 30 lb weight gain and bigger boobs."

He grinned, "Bigger boobs?"

"Shut up, I'm serious."

"So am I." he winked at me.

"Good news is, no Bob Jones for me." I smiled triumphantly at that.

"Thank God, that place is a hellhole."

"So, do we tell our parents?" I asked, exhaling the smoke as I spoke.

"Are you kidding me? No way. They'll make us get married right away or they'll try to get us to break up and make us give up the baby. And no matter what we'll end up "confessing our sins" to your church and mine in public and be treated like second class shit. We've both seen it, we know that's what happens. Your parents and mine will be embarrassed and think that they are crap parents. Your mom's mental and emotional health will get even worse than it has been and she'll use this situation to make herself out to be a martyr. That's why I brought up abortion. And that's the only reason, ok? I don't believe in it and I know you don't either but what choice do we actually have here?"

I knew he was right. We couldn't tell them. So, we came up with a really horrible plan while sitting there. And I mean horrible in the way that it not only wasn't well thought out, but also was selfish and hurtful to others. 

I left in the middle of the night the following week. My parents woke up the next morning to find me gone. I'd left a note telling them Will and I were running off to Maryland to elope and that I'd call them in a few days.

My mother was frantic, she called Will's mother in a panic demanding to know if she knew where we were, which she didn't. I'm not sure she even knew Will was gone yet.

We didn't elope though. We had enough sense about us to know that we weren't ready for marriage. We ran off and spent what little money we had on a hotel room and for a few days and nights the whole outside world was gone. It was all very romantic and very impulsive and oh so exciting.

Will called his mom after he found us a room to stay in at the house that his friend Rainbow rented a room at. He had lived in this place before with his family, but they had had the apartment downstairs. We had a room, and that was it. It was all we could possibly afford. He worked for his dad's dental lab and made very little. I made very little. We had no savings. I didn't drive. His mother chewed him out for a bit and then demanded that I call my mother, she was tired of having to field her daily calls asking if she'd heard from me.

I called my mom. Her first question after are you ok was to ask if I was pregnant. I lied. She asked if we had indeed gotten married. I lied again.

We kept lying like this to everyone until mid September. Only my closest friends knew that we weren't married. I lost my job because I had morning sickness so badly that I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Will's Pastor did some digging and found out that we hadn't been married in Maryland, or anywhere else for that matter. 

The confrontation was not fun. First the Pastor had us stay after church one Sunday and he very gleefully laid out how he had been calling various courthouses to confirm that we weren't married. He seemed to expect us to crumble in front of him. 

William laughed at him. 

"Ok, so we aren't married. So what? We aren't ready to be married yet but we want to be together and if we were simply living together we wouldn't be allowed to come to church here, we'd be thrown out."

"You're about to be thrown out now, if you don't repent!"

"Repent of what?"

"Fornication, lying, and Jen, you're pregnant aren't you?" Pastor Stickman accused.

Suddenly, I didn't like him, didn't like this church, didn't like these people. And for a moment, I didn't give a flying fuck what he thought about me, about Will, about anything.

"Yes. I am. I'm sorry about the lying but we didn't see any other way." I responded.

"I'm going to have to call your parents when we're done here and tell them, unless you want to do it?" He said.

"You don't have to do any such thing." I said. "I'm an adult, you have no right to do this."

"Oh yes I do, you two have been coming to my church and he is a member here." He motioned to William.

We left and Pastor Stickman did indeed call my parents. And Will's parents. Then on Monday he showed up at our boarding house with a deacon to confront him again. I stayed inside for this one, William wouldn't let them talk to me. Rainbow came out and helped William run them off. Baptists are no match for half drunk, pissed off, ex-marines.

When they left I ventured outside to sit at the picnic table with William. 

"Well?"

"We have a meeting tomorrow with Stickman, your parents, and my parents. That is, if we want to show up. They're going to be discussing our church discipline."

"Do you want to go?"

"I think we should. Maybe we can get them to listen to us. My Dad and Mom are more laid back then yours. They're pissed that we lied but that's about it. I think I can reason with my Dad."

"And my parents?"

"Your mom's not taking this too well according to Stickman. Your Dad is livid with me."

I sighed. "Understandable."

"It's stupid. They want me to get up in front of the church and confess our sins or else they are kicking me out and they won't ever recommend me to another church. I won't be allowed back on the church property. He's telling my family to cut us off from all support, financial and otherwise. My Dad won't let me work for him anymore apparently if I don't repent. He says that they have to separate themselves from us if we don't comply. Stickman said he spoke to Dick and he agrees. Pastor Dick said he'd help us find a good christian family to adopt our baby if we were willing but that you have to go home. Dick wants you to get up in front of your church and do the same thing about confessing like I do." he took a breath, " And it's not understandable that your Dad is livid with me. It's not like I assaulted you, unlike what happened with Doc, why wasn't he 'livid' about that, huh?!"

He had a point about my Dad. This situation was somehow a bigger deal to my parents and my church then when I had told my folks that Doc had molested me for three years. 

Dick was my pastor. Of course he would agree. And his answer to all unwed mothers was to keep them out of public view and then have them give up their babies. 

Rainbow took a swig of his beer and handed William a can. "Baptists suck ass."

Will and I laughed. It was sadly true.

"I don't think you should go." Rainbow said. "Fuck 'em"

"I think we should Rainbow. Maybe when we explain that this is just what we feared would happen then they will listen?" I said.

He grunted. "Doubtful. Why you should have heard them out here preaching at Willy, twistin' the Bible and yappin' about how they had to follow what it said and they had no choice and other such bullshit."

"Well according to how they interpret the Bible they do." I said.

"Exactly. Don't go. They don't know how to think about anything without that book open in front of them. Most brain damaged people I've ever met in my life and I was in 'Nam! Where's the humanity? Where's the compassion? And you two aren't little kids! You two need help and support right now, not judgement and coercion!"

We went to the meeting. 

It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.

We caved. 

My mother's crying and my Dad's glaring eyes told me there was no room for any sort of negotiation. I had so wronged them by lying about this that they had no choice but to agree with the Pastors. They were in a spiritual battle for our souls and lives from their point of view. It didn't matter that I was sorry about lying or why we felt compelled to lie. Will's parents were so afraid of what the people in their church would think about them if Will didn't confess that they said they would cut ties with us. Will's Dad and my Mom really didn't seem to like that prospect but I think they were trying to stay a united front. My parents and his said something about how they'd always love us but that until we got right with God they'd have to separate from us.

They all insisted that I come home, that day, and that Will and I get married within the next few weeks. I also had to have a meeting with my Pastor later on that week to get things straight with him and go over my options.

I went back home and for the first time my parents saw the squalid room that I had been living in with William. We stopped by there for me to pick up a few things before heading back to Quakertown. Will and I shared a bathroom with all of the other residents. There was no kitchen. Our room was a 10 by 12 room with a mattress on the floor, a small table shoved against the wall, a small set of shelves with a crockpot and single burner for cooking, and a dresser by the one window that had no screen and didn't open all the way. We had propped a fan in the window for ventilation at least. When my mother gingerly picked up the mattress a mouse ran out from under it. It was living in our mattress. "You would have rather stayed here, with him, then to have been at home with us?" She was appalled.

"Yes."

"Really? Was it worth all of these lies?" she asked as her brow furrowed in disgust and disappointment.

I wanted to say yes and no, that although these last couple of months had been tough, I'd so enjoyed being on my own away from them and only going to church once a week, if that, instead of three times. Yes, Will was controlling, and his drinking bothered me. William's often controlling behaviour seemed to be pretty much the same thing that I'd experienced at home, only a different flavor. I'd exchanged one form of control for another, but I didn't know anything different existed. My reservations about him were part of why I didn't want to marry him yet. I loved him, but it didn't feel right to marry him at that time. Neither of us was mature enough to handle all of this.

Instead, I didn't answer her, I just apologized again for hurting her. I was sorry about that, I didn't like lying to them. I didn't like hiding my pregnancy from her. I was wrong to do that. I should have been honest with her and my Dad. I wish I felt that I could have trusted them with that. But I didn't. We didn't have that type of relationship then.

My meeting with Pastor Dick was awkward, and it was awful. I think at first we started out with my parents in there with me, and then it was just he and I, though that part is a bit fuzzy. It's been 20 years after all. Certain things I remember with clarity, others just with generalities. 

I had a meeting with he and William at some point as well. He really tried to push for William and I to give up our baby. He said that if we did that than we wouldn't HAVE to get married. If we kept the baby we had no choice. He said that if we didn't get married, I certainly couldn't be a good single mother because single moms didn't do a good job of raising their children, that statistically children in two parent homes are more secure. He told us that he could find a good christian family to adopt our baby. We told him no thank you. We were keeping our baby. In the meeting with Will and I, he asked to speak with me alone, and Will left to go back to his house. My Mom would drive me back home later, William and I weren't allowed to be alone together during this time, lest we fornicate again.

After Will left, Dick came around to the front of his desk and sat in the chair beside me, "Jeney, I have to ask you a few questions."

By this time, I just wanted all of this to be over, so whatever, bring it on, I can weather this.

"Yes?"

"You know that I know about what happened to you in Ohio, with the deacon over there?" he asked.

"Former Deacon, he was my family doctor, and my parent's best friend. But yes, I know. I'm not happy that you know, but I know." I said, sitting further back into the chair. He was too close to me, I didn't like this.

"Be that as it may...do you think that because of what happened to you, that it made you promiscuous?"

I was floored. How does one answer that? Promiscuous? I was engaged to William when we conceived, I had not had any sort of sex with any other man other than William and my abuser.

"I...I...don't know how to answer that. Will is the only guy I've been with so...?"

He persisted, "Yes but, often when children are sexually abused, it causes them to have risky behaviours sexually so I was wondering if you thought that you being abused caused you to sleep with William?"

Now I was mad. "No, I had sex with him because I love him and I liked it. It had nothing to do with Doc."

"Are you sure? You can tell me, it wouldn't surprise me." he leaned in a bit, and seemed so sure of what he was saying.

"Look, I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Oh, that brings me to another question, one I have thought about for a long time." He sat back. 

I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this. I really wanted to run out of there, I didn't care if he was the "Lord's anointed" he was being an inappropriate prick. But, I didn't say anything. I'd been conditioned all my life not to say or do anything to men in power within the church or home.

"I have always wondered," he continued,"When you were younger... and I'm asking since I wasn't your Pastor then so I don't know how things were in Ohio... and you look back at that time, do you feel like you in any way may have dressed inappropriately or acted in a manner which may have caused this man to desire you?"

"No. I was like 10, 11, 12." was all I could muster.

"No?"

"No. Can I go now?"

He looked disappointed, "Are you sure? Sometimes we have hidden sins and if you have any now would be a good time to disclose them. We can pray together as you are on your way to this new start in your life."

"No."

"Alright, see you on Wednesday, I'll call you up after the service to say your confession."

Will had his confession on Sunday. It was awful. I don't know how he got through that, standing up there in front of everyone, knowing that if he didn't, he'd lose everything including his job. All the church people forgave us and we went home. I cried all night. I hated having to see him like that, he was so defeated. The church people thought it was beautiful. It wasn't beautiful, it was devastating. They broke him.

Will came to my church for Wednesday. Pastor Dick never called me up after the service. To this day I don't know why. I sat through that prayer meeting barely able to breathe knowing full well what was coming, trying not to cry and knowing or thinking that most of the church already knew and that everyone felt so badly for Pastor F and his family (my family). It was such a shame. I was such a shame. William was pissed about my not having to go up. Pissed because he had to do it and I didn't. I was selfishly relieved. Eventually Will would say that he was glad that I didn't have to go through with that, that neither one of us should have had to endure that.

We got married at my parents house, with my father officiating in October. I wore the purple dress that I had been planning on wearing to my senior banquet the prior year but I hadn't gotten to go. I wasn't allowed to wear white. William had just turned 20 and wore his best suit. My mom put together a nice little informal get together and we had a cake and some presents and it was all as lovely as it could be under the circumstances. My mom always knows how to throw together a beautiful party for any occasion.

Our parents had helped us find an apartment that was under a house that one of our church members lived at. It was a very nice starter home in Coopersburg. Raymond, the absolute joy of my life arrived on Valentines Day.

About 8 months after we moved in we were evicted. It was the first of many evictions. Williams drinking worsened. He couldn't hold down a job to save his life (36 jobs in 5 years). He wouldn't allow me to work. He didn't want me on birth control. He developed a gambling addiction. He developed a drug addiction. We separated, we got back together. Pastor Stickman told me I couldn't divorce him, even though he could see that he had an "anger problem" and encouraged me to be more submissive and pray more. Will's girlfriend had a baby. I had another son, Taylor, my amazing rock, who arrived on the day that I took his father to court for child support. We got back together again. We separated. His drinking worsened, his yelling increased. He got better. We got back together. We moved. We found a great church, William was sober, I was hopeful. He started using again. I had an affair. William found out. We stayed together. He became more controlling. I became pregnant. He joined the Army, then left the Army. He began drinking again. He wouldn't go to AA or acknowledge that he had a problem. His parents wouldn't acknowledge that he had a problem. He helped me pack up and I left him for the last time pregnant, with our two small boys in tow. I had our third son, Joseph, my sensitive life saving boy, and then I divorced William.

Will was bipolar. He used alcohol, the church, substances, sex, gambling, me, anything he could to try and stay sane. It didn't work. I didn't know anything about mental illnesses or alcoholism and I didn't know for sure if I was or wasn't being abused most of the time. I didn't know how to help him and our churches didn't equip us in any way to get him or I help. I struggled with sometimes severe depression and ptsd during those five years. 

I loved him very much and today he and I are good friends. He has gotten clean and sober and has a good life in Michigan with his wife. 

But looking back, he and I never should have been forced into marriage. It harmed us and our children. It was very hard on our extended families. My parents were always kind enough to take me back in when he and I would separate but it was five years of back and forth that wasn't fair to them either. My Pastor had no reason to question me like he did. It was inappropriate and uncalled for.