Tag Archives: school

check one-check two

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School discipline is a tough subject.  My cult school handled it like this.  If you misbehaved, or missed questions on an assignment you went to the pastor’s office.  That’s not quite true, sometimes he would do it in front of the class if you needed extra humiliation in your day.  He would then pull out his PVC pipe of justice and thwack you hard.  He would get you on the butt or on the palm as many times as God told him to do it.

The crimes I can remember that I committed are:

Having an attitude problem.

Wearing cover up (when I had been told it was ok)

Having an attitude problem.

Missing too many math problems.

Drawing too much attention to myself.

Having an attitude problem.

Flirting

Having an attitude problem.

Plagiarism (false accusation)

Wearing my hair wrong.

Having an attitude problem.

Not being ignored right.

Losing my head covering.

Writing a story that they thought had subtext that didn’t and then not confessing to what they read into my story.

Having an attitude problem.

Standing with my nose not 6 inches from the wall.

Not submitting

Having a total frickin hissy when I couldn’t handle it anymore

Etc…

Then after your super awesome fun day at school you would get a note detailing your grievances.  There would be a checkmark on bottom of the note for each time you had been wailed on that day.  Then the family would have to re-wail on you for each check mark you had and then sign it.  You would bring it in the next day, or get wailed on.  Some families had formulas, such as you get wailed on three times for every check you bring home, because you’ve shamed the family.

That’s how we went about it anyway.

one room school house – in my house

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Ahhhh.  School.  I feel compelled to break some new ground in my blog and open up about my school experiences.  Ready?  I’m not.  Here goes.  (Those last three tiny sentences could be the story of my life.  Anyhooooo….)

I went to public school from kindergarten through 4th grade.  At the start of my 5th…  OK, that’s not how I should start.  There were two age groups of kids.  The older kids who came into the church when their families joined.  The younger group that was born in the church.  I was closer to the age of the older kids, even though I was born in the church.  At the start of 5th grade, our church decided to form a school.  There was school for the really young kids, and a school for the older kids.  I was put in the oldest class, but I was the youngest in it.  The school was in our living room.  Every morning the kids would show up and set out the folding tables and chairs and make our makeshift classroom.

So, I started in high school curriculum with the older kids when I was 10.  We read Beowulf (in the olde English) Animal Farm, Shakespeare and I kicked ass at that.  We had auto mechanics on Tuesdays on a goat farm.  There was cooking class.  “Speech Class” (one of the guys in the church took toastmasters, so we followed that format). Science. Math. Bible Study. The courses were good for the most part.

Science was scary, the Pastor, who was our science teacher, would frequently bring in animals for dissection.  I would have to jam a pin up the back of a frog’s skull and scramble it’s brains.  Then pin down it’s limbs and start cutting it open.  I would cry, because I was 10 and it seemed horrible.  So, he would take me in the back room wail on me a couple times with a PVC pipe and then I would wipe my eyes and dice the frog.  I saw it’s heart beating.  Then I cut the wrong artery and his little body cavity filled with blood.  I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore.  I don’t remember a lot of science, but I did butcher a lot of animals that year.

Every morning we had worship.  The four girls would put on our head coverings and we would pray and sing songs.  Usually pray in tongues for a while.  Then move on to English.  My dad is a very good teacher and I enjoyed his lessons.  There was no favoritism.

At the end of the year, two of the kids “graduated”.  Sixth grade was ok.  In 7th grade, I lost my two best friends (they were sisters) and in my class as well.  Their dad was confronted in front of the congregation for masturbating and they were kicked out of the church.  When we got home from church I was told that I would never see my best friends again, and that was the danger of sin.

Another family left the church.  And J, had parents who were split up.  His mom was in the church and his dad wasn’t.  It was part of their agreement that when he was 14 he could choose.  He opted to leave the church and that broke my heart.  He had been my dance partner and secret crush since I was 5.

Our class was rapidly shrinking.  Another family was kicked out of the church (two of their sons were in my class) and a restructuring had to happen.  My brother went to public high school and I went down to the younger school.  Which was absolutely humiliating and mortifying for me.

Challenger shuttle

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There are some questions you can ask anyone.  Ask people where they were when the towers fell on Sept 11th and they know.  Ask a baby boomer where they were when JFK was shot and they will know.  Ask a gen-Xer like me where they were when the challenger blew up and they know.

January 28, 1986 was a Tuesday, which meant I was in school.  I was ten.  Our church school had a non standard curriculum to say the least.  Each family had to fast one day a week and we fasted on Tuesdays.  No food from Monday sunset to Tuesday sunset.  We chose Tuesday because I didn’t have dance class on Tuesdays and it was hard to do hours of exercise with no blood sugar.  The downside is Tuesdays at school we had auto mechanics class on the goat farm.

We would meet in the barn and the three girls in my class would circle around a tub of gasoline scrubbing car engine parts with toothbrushes.  The five guys in our class would tinker with the engine.  Spending an hour or so scrubbing with gasoline in the cold while fasting is a mind altering experience, and not one of the good kinds.

Carl, the mechanics teacher and dad to two of the guys in our class ran out of the trailer and told us that the Challenger had crashed.  We were shocked, and had to clean up the gasoline quickly so that the goats didn’t get into it.  Then we were allowed to go into the house and watch TV.  We saw it replayed over and over again.  The crash was burned into our retinas and memory.  The world seemed less safe and we mourned the seven deaths.

President Reagan addressed the nation later.  That made me feel safe because my parents liked him and I had met him before and shook his hand.

crawling toward awesome

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It’s nice to get validation.  I had my first appointment with the dance therapist last night.  For the first session we were to talk and start getting to know each other.  I was going to tell her a brief history of me.  I had a plan to present it to her in a clear and rational way…

Right

This woman is heavy, not fat but grounded like a rock.  (Which means my friend L would probably want to lift her)  All I can say is, she sure was in that room.  She asked a few questions.  I opened my mouth and a lot of stuff came out.  I told her about the cult, the pvc pipes, oak rods, confrontations, accusations, forced public confessions in front of the congregation, hair cutting, ptsd, hyper vigilance, isolation.  Then I gave her a brief overview of the 17 years after that, with an emphasis on the last 2.

She looked at me kindly and I felt really vulnerable.  I was very conscious of my body language.  When I talked about an abuse or trauma I looked down and to the right, I wasn’t there.  When she asked why dance therapy. I told her about my dance history and love of dance.  I was focused and engaged.  We are going to work together, I am excited about it.  I am fearful that a hole is going to be poked in me and a black tar ocean will flood out and drown me.

Trust isn’t easy for me and I think I have to trust that there’s a me on the other side of this.  And that there is an other side of this. I can’t see it and I can’t even imagine what it would feel like.  As I drove away I thought about all the stuff I hadn’t told her about: the school checkmark beating system, the exorcisms, the fasting, the betrayals, the other harms I’ve dealt and received.  It all flashed through my head.  I felt pretty devastated.  A big, wormy can is being opened and it’s time.

Everything is really amazing right now and I feel safer than I ever have.  I want to learn to be present in it. I want to learn how to face that part of my brain that’s always telling me I’m in danger and find the off switch, the mute button or maybe the pause button.

She said that I live in loops.  I said it appears to be a 17 year cycle, and I set fire to my life and make something new out of the ashes.  I am in a very grey ashy part and I can do anything right now.  I am seeking this help because I want to use this precious, pivotal time to make the right me, this time around the loop.  She said every time I re-emerge it’s a healthier, happier person.

But I feel sometimes that this rebirth is a slow, bloody crawl toward awesome.

SSSSHHHH

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We didn’t have a commune.  We didn’t have a shared property.  We had a cult de sac (get it?).  Not everyone who lived there was in the church, but about half of the houses were members.  Most of the people didn’t live there, but it was definitely a status symbol to be one of the people on that street.  Since we weren’t locked up, we were in the world-but not of the world.

I remember that a few of the women had jobs but most of the women worked at home or at the church school.  The men worked.  There was a huge emphasis on silence.  Silence to coworkers, to outside family members, to neighbors and to people in my dance company.   But we couldn’t really blend.  I didn’t really talk to anyone in my dance company at all, except for my dance partner N, she was great.  But the conversation was never really one of what was going on at home.  I imagine the men who were at work felt similarly: isolated and alone.

When you are schooled over and over again about how everyone is evil and that you are morally accountable and must confess each thought the result is acute emotional and mental isolation and depression.  The tragic thing is that now I have been in the world and now I know how common abuse is (and it’s probably more common than I think still).  This silent isolation and shame keeps so much abuse alive.

SSSSHHHH

We were told not to talk to “them”.  “They” would never understand.  “They” will separate us. “They” will persecute us.  But when I opened my mouth at home or church where it was “safe” it just got worse leading to punishment and betrayal.  Where do you go when the people who are supposed to keep you safe-harm and betray you?  What do you do when you can’t reach out further because “they” are evil and will drag you to hell or persecute you?

Opening my mouth was what saved me and how I was able to leave at 17.  I had a crisis of faith at 15, and when I got up the nerve to talk about it, I experienced the most profound betrayal and punishment in my life all through the age of 16.  This is a very long story that I don’t want to tell yet.  But I made a decision in my sheer misery.  That if what was happening to me was indeed god’s will that I would accept it.  But I would no longer be silent about my pain because I was isolated, miserable, terrified and bordering on suicidal.  I couldn’t find a verse in the bible that said that I wasn’t allowed to talk about it.  In fact…  Luke 12:3 “Therefore whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.”

Eventually the right person to talk to appeared to me, she was a coworker.  But this time I was out of the church school at 16 and attending a jr. college, I worked at that bookstore.  We would talk and through that I talked my way into a safe life.

I am still talking because I am compelled to.

Silence kills.

Silence hurts.

Silence dupes people into thinking and feeling that they are the only ones that are hurt, abused, betrayed, scared and alone.

So many people come up to me and tell me the most intimate, brutal, powerful secrets.  It is one of my gifts and calls to service in this world.  I am grateful to be an ear and a heart.  I am also trusting that airing my messy and gradual healing process is the right thing to do.

We’re all in this together.

Keep talking.

Love you,

Feisty

Mindfulness

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Hi internet, I’ve been gone for a while and now I am writing on a train, this is hard.  So, in my life I have a new meal plan, a new relationship, a new blog, a new gig, live in a new city.  And I have a very old problem that I am facing again.

Food.

Well, not just food.

Consumption actually, because I can’t ignore or deny how my alcohol intake has affected me.

Takes me back to the church.  I have noticed how I always think I’m going to starve to death.  Terrified of it really.  And so much of the fear (that feeds into the eating disorder I have) goes back to the mandated fasting.  Once a week, since I was little we wouldn’t eat for an entire day – until dinner.  Then we would binge at dinner.  It’s hard for a little kid to not eat.  It’s hard for a teenage that’s dancing for hours a day to not eat.  It was hard.

We also had our winter “retreat”.  Three days of freezing in cabins in the snow, fasting and prayer.  Followed by a monstrous, beefy celebratory binge.  Up until I was 11 I think I was allowed three pieces of bread and three pieces of fruit a day while there.  But then it was three foodless days in the cold.  And that was miserable, except you could get a hell of a high and a good trance state on the end of day 2 after praying in tongues for a few hours, especially after tons of hiking.  wheeeee

In the last year and a half, my life has changed so much.  Now I am trying to focus on mindfulness.  Starting to, anyway.  Well, I’m thinking about thinking about it.  It’s hard.

Being

Here

Now

Weird

So I just had an amazing weekend with E and several interesting things came up.  I actually relaxed.  And for someone with hyper vigilance from PTSD, that’s just hard.  We were in the shower and all of the symptoms of a panic attack began to surface.  I couldn’t focus, my heart raced and I was absolutely overwhelmed.  I wanted to get out, to change my situation, drink, eat, run, anything.  And I stopped and breathed.

I stopped, breathed, looked around.  I am in a gorgeous hotel room in San Francisco.  I’ve had an amazing morning and breakfast in bed.  Now we are showering and I am freaking the hell out.  (breathe in) (breathe out)

E asked me what was triggering me.  I said I didn’t know.  Then I thought and said, “Nothing is happening, we’re not doing anything.”  He asked what I meant and I decided to not let my “rational” adult answer and opened up and let the fearful voice inside talk.  She said, “They’re going to find out we’re not doing anything, they’re going to know. They’re going to be mad that I’m not cleaning or working and I’m going to get in trouble.”  He said, “well, that makes sense”.

So I learned that relaxation is a trigger for my PTSD.   And the thought of it absolutely terrifies me.  Relaxation (SCARY!)  Gotta keep busy.  Even my mom didn’t want to hear what I had to say unless there was a rag in my hand.  “work and talk”.  I’m only valid if I’m working, producing, making someone’s life better.  But also, if there is quiet and stillness there is time for others to reflect on my sins and I don’t want to get punished.  (Remember: PVC pipes are not for hitting kids with.)

So, when I get downtime eating or drinking calms the voices that tell me that once I relax I will get in trouble, yelled at or punished or something bad will happen.

Mindfulness

Sucks

As I am on my new nutrition plan I am limiting and/or eliminating the substances that I use and abuse.  Food, alcohol and caffeine. I don’t know what it’s going to be like.  I know that I am nervous.  Recently, I have gained some of my weight back.  A long time ago I was 265 pounds, I lost 85 of that but I’ve gained some back.  The plan that I used before was based on what I couldn’t eat and now I am focused on a comprehensive nutrition plan.  What does my body need?

Mindfulness

I am excited about it.  But I don’t want to get my hopes up.  Don’t want to trip on the future.  Don’t want to screw up in front of the whole internet.  Just want to do it a meal at a time, see what happens, see what my body wants and needs.

Get healthy

Be present while doing it

Be mindful

I blame you, McFlurry Girl

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I have to tell the truth, I was at a McDonalds.  I was only there because it is so novel.  You see, I’ve only eaten at a McDonald’s 3 times in my life that I can remember.  And tonight I was there because I had been drinking and I needed some fries something fierce.  How can a girl be 34 and only have eaten at a McDonald’s 3 times?  Well it helps if you were born in a cult.  And if helps if the leadership passes out literature about how McDonald’s is to be boycotted because they support Planned Parenthood (who supports abortion, which is “evil”, etc etc etc)
 
Now, dear cult, you couldn’t help my 7 year reading comprehension.  I read your literature diligently.  I wanted to understand.  But my 7 year old brain deducted from your literature that McDonald’s supported Planned Parenthood by supplying “meat”.  And so I hadn’t eaten there until recently because I thought that your burgers were actually fetus meat.  Which they aren’t.  I get it.  But when in doubt it’s best not to perform acts of possible cannibalism.
 
Anyway, McFlurry girl…  You ordered a McFlurry, probably because of your name.  You were in line and I was staring at you.  Probably because I was partially intoxicated.  Your curves weren’t curvy enough.  Your voice was too high pitched, I admit it, I judged you.  Then you turned your head, and all judgements flew out the drive thru window.  You have a hell of a nose.
 
As all of my close friends know, I admire a big nose on a girl.  Seriously.  It’s got character, it’s got interest.  A girl with an interesting nose has always got a story to tell.  I blame you, McFlurry Girl, for making me not hate you.  There have been a lot of noses that have made my life interesting…  B, we just got reunited again on facebook, girl your nose is amazing.  J, a relatively new friend, your nose is character rich and fabulous.  But my original nose “thing” started with a girl who has a vowel to start her name and it’s an E.
 
E was in my church, and she was my first “girl crush”.  E sat next to me in church school, and I spent a lot of time with her profile.  Sometimes our hands would touch, it was awesome.  I knew I loved an interesting nose on a girl, but I didn’t know that it all started with E until recently when I was going through some old photos and saw her profile.  Everything snapped into place, and I realized that E was the first girl crush.
 
It was so long ago, and so innocent.  I miss E.
 
(For the record, it’s not a fetish.  I don’t want to do anything with the noses.  It’s just a trait I admire, don’t be weird about it.  k bye)