Memorial Day 2012

Hello, Friends.

Memorial Day weekend is here again.  The television is full of furniture sales, mattress sales and families enjoy the sunshine free of bugs thanks to repellants.

You don’t see many commercials about those who died – giving their lives for our freedom.  Contrary to popular belief – Memorial Day salutes only those who made the ultimate sacrifice.  Those who died in service to this Nation.

To that end – today I want to remember someone very special.  I want her to know that I am thinking of her today, that I keep her family in my prayers.  I guess that when you loose a hero and a friend in this shitty thing we call war – Memorial Day is never the same.

Fire and Rain – James Taylor (I can never hear this song without thinking of you, M.)

Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
I just can’t remember who to send it to

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I’d see you again

Won’t you look down upon me, Jesus
You’ve got to help me make a stand
You’ve just got to see me through another day
My body’s aching and my time is at hand
And I won’t make it any other way

Oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I’d see you again

Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it’ll turn your head around
Well, there’s hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things
to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground

Oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I’d see you, baby, one more time again, now
Thought I’d see you one more time again
There’s just a few things coming my way this time around, now
Thought I’d see you, thought I’d see you fire and rain, now

Dedicated to all of those who are gone – but will never, ever be forgotten.

Peace,

Joan

I wish I were a Vulcan

Hello, Friends.

It has been a very rough couple of weeks.  My PTSD was majorly triggered – of all people who triggered it – it was someone that trusted.  I’m sure this man doesn’t even realize what he was doing, but perception is everything.  As a result – I am on day 5 of a miserable migraine.  Looking at what happened, it all seems so very begnign.  However, it has been miserable for me, and has allowed the evil to come into the one place there has never been evil before – my church.  I love my church, I love the people there, I love the Deacon that I work with teaching confirmation.  I adore the children.  I feel like I am doing something good, something that makes a difference.  I find “making a difference” to be the most important mission of my life.  Changing the world to be the best place that I can make it.  Even if that change is only in my little corner of the world.

It really seemed so simple.  My priest wanted to speak with me about planning an event during Holy Week.  I was very excited because my favorite thing in the whole universe is teaching.  I love to teach.  I would be doing one of my favorite programs, a Passover Seder.  It was confirmation retreat weekend and I always do a Seder for the kids, so that they can see the link between Passover and Communion.  It is a fun class and they get to sample foods that Jesus himself would have eaten.  They have a real opportunity to connect with Jesus and with our Jewish brothers and sisters.  He called me into his office to speak with him and promptly went to work on his computer.  I was sort of lost at what to say – but I talked about how excited I was and how interesting this program is.  I mentioned that I teach the kids a lot from the Old Testament and Judiasm…his response, “I know, I’ve heard…I talk to the kids, you know.”  Doesn’t that sound like the beginning of the sentence?  I sat waiting for him to say something else.  If the kids aren’t happy with what I am teaching them – I need to know so I can make changes.  If the Priest isn’t happy, I need him to tell me what I am doing wrong.  There was no other information.  I am always willing to take instruction – but all I got was cold, dead silence and a distinct feeling that I was failing.  Then, I explained that I needed an unconscecrated host – and that the woman in charge of church functions told me I could have one out of the refrigerator.  (For those who don’t know anything about the Catholic faith – a host is a wafer of bread.  It is just bread until the Priest blesses it.  Once it has been consecrated – it becomes the body and blood of our Savior, Jesus Christ.  However, until it is consecrated…it’s just a funny tasting, quarter sized piece of bread.)  Suddenly, his head popped up and he became obviously angry that I had been given permission to get this piece of bread for my class.  Now, the dear sweet kind woman who works her butt off for no compensation is in trouble – and it was all my fault.  Needless to say, I was heartbroken.  This woman is the mother to my husband’s best friend.  She has never been anything but kind.  In fact, she considers my husband like her own son, and she gladly “adopted” me when we were married.  This isn’t a woman who says, “I am a Christian” this is a woman who lives like a Christian.

The weekend continued from there.  I spent the whole weekend with the kids, acting as the chaperone to make sure the girls and the boys didn’t mix.  I was happy to do it.  The next morning, I sat lookout for the Priest to arrive at the church so we could bring the kids over.  (These are 16 year olds)  The Priest walked into the church and I said, “Good morning, Father.”  I got an icy stare and a “Good thing I was late!”  I explained that I was doing lookout duty so we could bring the kids over.  His response, “Whatever.”  (Our priest has three parishes that he goes to on Sunday mornings – so he is usually late to our church – because we are last.)

He told a story in his homily that morning.  About an angry, bitter woman who was always judging others.  She found out that Jesus was going to visit her and so she waited by the door for his arrival.  When she opened the door – an angry, bitter, judgemental man was standing there.  She asked who he was – and he said – I am Jesus.  The woman said, you are not Jesus.  He responded, “Yes, I am.  I am the Jesus that people see in you.”

There was one place in this world that SGT Jerk didn’t follow me…it was church.  I could kneel in the pew and find warmth, love, comfort and healing there.  SGT Jerk wasn’t allowed in the doors – there was only peace for me.  Jesus would speak to me there – he would hold me there.  I could leave all of the pain and the fear at the door and just exist.  Now, SGT Jerk is standing at the altar.  He is preaching from the ambo.  He is touching the sacred communion with his dirty fingers.

I am on the 5th day of this migraine.  I don’t have the sick leave to take enough time off to feel better.  At the same time, I can’t just drop out of life.  I can’t lose myself just because this one individual.  It isn’t just because he is a priest.  Maybe it is because he is a priest.  I have been blessed – I know a lot of priests…In fact, I have 3 of them in my speed dial and I consider them good friends.  They are all good men – caring men – they love the people they serve.  They would rather die than break a heart.

My VA Provider has been kind enough to prescribe me some Xanax…it does wonders on the migraine!  I appreciate the fact that she believes me when I say that I have to cut the anxiety to kill the migraine.  I took two Vicodan on Saturday night and it didn’t even touch the pain.  However, the Xanax has actually allowed me to rest, sleep and has reduced the terrible tension in my neck and head.  The headache is still there – but it isn’t as crippling – as you can see from my posting today.

I am getting ready to curl in for the night.  It is early, but the more I can rest the better I can feel.  The medicine allows my racing thoughts to stop.  I hate that feeling of trying to crawl out of my skin.  It is impossible to crawl out of your own skin – but the desire is almost a compulsion!  I am watching one of my favorite shows…don’t laugh at me…Star Trek Enterprise.  I’m a big fan of Star Trek in general – but I really love Enterprise.  Probably because I would run away with Scott Bakula any moment of any hour of any day.  He is my favorite actor!  I figure it is because he almost always plays characters that are good, decent, kind and moral individuals.  I watched him in this one movie, In the Name of the People, where he played a serial killer about to be executed – and he still seemed really decent.  I am most fascinated with T’Pol and Spock and all of the other Vulcans.  What a nice thought – the ability to completely repress all emotions.  To feel nothing.  Nothing would ever get to them, they wouldn’t feel they were a failure, they wouldn’t feel hurt or pain.  They wouldn’t suffer from a 5 day migraine just because someone was cruel or thoughtless.  They would have no idea what PTSD is.

Yup – I think that in my next life…I want to be a Vulcan.  (Besides – T’Pol is really HOT – just ask my husband

Peace be with you -

Joan

Don’t Ask…Don’t Tell?

Hi, Friends,

I had a situation come up last night at the VSO meeting that has me wondering…what do I do now?  By the time my husband told me about the conversation…it was too late for me to take immediate action.

Our current VSO Commander, who I consider a good friend, told my husband and another individual that he spoke to a couple of OIF/OEF Veterans about joining our VSO group. 

They asked, “Is Joan still involved?” 

 He replied, “Of course.” 

They stated…”Then I want no part of it.”

Of course, this leaves him with a lot of questions.  I can’t be sure exactly who they are – but I can tell you what unit they are from and I can tell you that they were probably in the unit when I went after Sgt. JERK. 

I was up a large part of the night thinking about how to handle this.  The other individuals response was – screw them…we got her and she isn’t going anywhere.  I have to say that I am pretty well liked in my VSO – if being tasked for Post, District and State duty is any indication.  This morning my thoughts are still racing and I feel like I can’t get enough air.  It is my quicksand feeling.  I hate that feeling.  I know that it is simply a minor panic attack – but I know that it can last for hours…even days.  Yes…I know that they say that panic attacks don’t last THAT long…I say – bullpuckey!

Now the question becomes; how much do I tell my friend?  Does he have some right to know the situation with my discharge.  After all, he is out there working hard and trying to recruit new members.  On the other hand, how much of my person do I have to sacrifice to continue to serve in my VSO?  When I say, Don’t Ask; Don’t Tell – I am not talking about the policy for homosexuals in the military – I am talking about the fact that MST Survivors don’t want to be asked…and certainly are taught not to tell!

Do I believe that this individual will be respectful of the information that I share.  Yes, I think I do.  After all, he is a man…and I have little trust in them.  However, he has proven over the years that he is an honorable person.  He isn’t out for his own gain in the VSO work that he does – for the most part.  Have I had multiple arguements with this man?  Yup, more than I can count!  However, he has usually been respectful, even when we fight like an old married couple.

How much do I tell him?  There are times that I have stepped out an told – in an effort to encourage people in positions of power to do more to stop MST.  Normally, I get that look of sympathy, pity and a dash of unbelief.  I hate pity! 

I suppose I have to do something.  Either give an explanation or quit my VSO.  Once again – the perpetrators are trying to blame the victim.  I just hope that one day this will all end.

Thoughts and comments are appreciated.

Joan

C**nts, Bit**es, and Who**s – Mature Content!

Hello, Friends,

Rush Limbaugh is making news this week.  Apparently, he decided to call some young woman a whore.  Bill Maher and a score of other comedians, commentators and political pundits have done the exact same thing.  I’m not really concerned about what these people are saying – I’m concerned that the words they are using have become “commonplace” in our country.  To me, it is the tip of the iceberg to some very deep rooted issues. 

So what is next?  It seems that women in positions of power or women with an opinion are now becoming targets of the most vile language.  Because Sarah Palin has strongly held beliefs and voices her opinion…she is a cunt and a bitch.  It would seem that Michelle Bachman is a twat and this young woman who uses contraceptives is a whore.  It seems to me that it has become popular, when disagreeing with a woman, to call her something related to her genitalia – or a sexually active dog.

I don’t normally do politics here – but most people can figure out I am a life long Republican.  No…I don’t like Palin or Bachman – but it is some of their politics I don’t like…it has nothing to do with their version of “bush.”  I certainly don’t agree with President Obama’s policies – but I would never call him a dumb ni**er because his race or his skin color has nothing to do with politics!  The Sergeant that was very abusive to me happened to be of Hispanic decent – but I would NEVER call him a wet**ck or a sp**.  Him being an ass has nothing to do with his genetics.

So is this mysoginistic language new – or do people who carry a deep seated hatred of women just feel more comfortable using that language?  After all, a man who sleeps with a lot of women is a “player” or a “stud.”  So why is a woman who has had more than one partner a “slut” and a “whore?”  Who are these guys sleeping with to be labeled a “stud?”

What does someone’s opinion on life, politics, religion, personally held beliefs or the price of an orange have to do with their genitalia?  If Sarah Palin was a man – people who disagree with her might call her an idiot or ignorant or naive…but she isn’t a man – therefore…she’s a cunt.

This language causes so much anger in me.  I can’t tell you how many times I was called a cunt, bitch, slut, whore in the military.  The higher my rank or the more responsibility I was given – the worse the names got.  I was really a nice person – but it didn’t matter.  A male NCO who made the same decision or statement that I made was called:  decisive, assertive or a “good leader.”  If I made the same decision – I was called a bitch.

I think it goes beyond a hatred of women.  It think it goes back into sexual politics – after all, if a woman is considered strong, competant, educated, hard-working, team player…you can’t justify forced sexual encounters.  However, if a woman is a bitch, cunt, slash, whore or slut – you can rape them all you want.  After all, it humilitates and degrades our humanity.  Once you render someone as “inhuman” you can do anything you want to them.

Don’t believe me – just look back in history at any group that has been a victim of genocide, marginalization or pogrom – the first step is always to make them seem like a lesser creature.

Just a few to think about:

Native Americans, the Irish in th 1800′s, Germans, Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Muslim sects (Shiite vs Sunni), the Congnitely Impaired, the Mentally Ill, African Americans and Blacks, Hispanics, the Chinese, Japanese Americans WWII, Mormons.

The list goes on and on and on.  I haven’t even touched the surface.  Yet, the one group that seems to be hovering at the top is women.  Regardless of race, creed, color, religion, national origin, disability, ability, education and any other demographic we can think of…it seems to be that we are fair targets.

Hell – who gives a damn about it – We are all just a bunch of fucking cunts anyway.

Peace,

Joan

Suicide by Bully

I found an interesting article in the news this morning.  As usual, incidents like these are buried on the web.  A young soldier killed himself in Afghanistan after being abused by other members of his squad.

http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2012/03/06/military-recommend-court-martial-over-suicide-linked-to-taunting-by-fellow/?test=latestnews

In a rare turn of events – the military is actually recommending court martial for these individuals.

Notice the ranks of these individuals?  There are a lot of NCO’s on this list.  It leads me back to the same question that I have asked time and again – what is our NCO Corp coming to?  It was the same question after Abu Ghraib and after each story of Sexual Assault and Harrassment.  It is the same question after stupid things like Koran burning.  What happened to the good NCO’s?

Any leader knows that there are days that you have to take corrective action.  In fact, every leader knows, that there are some people who are just not playing with a full deck.  Not the quickest bunnies in the hutch or the sharpest crayons in the box.  How do you bring these little black sheep back into the fold and TEACH them something?  It is a question that all leadership has to deal with.

I had a young soldier once who just didn’t get it.  She was very young and so green that you couldn’t tell where her uniform ended and her skin began.  She was an intelligent young girl…she just didn’t have the sense that the good Lord gave a cabbage!  It was a constant struggle to teach her the simplest tasks.  One of her favorite tricks was to assume that any duffle back that was green and any sleeping bag that was black…must be hers.  This also went for any gear that might look like hers, vehicles, protective masks, weapons, helmets and MRE’s.  The reason she would pick up any weapon or any mask was because she was always misplacing her own.  Yup…she had a history of laying down her weapon and failing to remember where she put it.  Even when gear was clearly labeled with someone’s name…she would still pick it up and think it was hers.

The question became how do I, as her NCO, train her and teach her without humilitating her.  Some of her habits, like picking up a sleeping bag that isn’t hers, are relatively harmless.  Some of her habits, like chronically misplacing her weapon, are potentially deadly.  The rule is:  Train as you fight.  Regardless of being in a training environment, you have to assume you are going into combat.  The additional problem with the weapon is that the weapon could fall into civilian hands.  We train with live weapons, and they are capable of firing in a three round burst.  Even when we don’t have ammunition with us…you can purchase the ammunition just about anywhere.

The annoying habits have to be broken through constant monitoring.  Making sure that her bags, her sleeping bag and her gear is clearly labeled.  Gentle and private reminders to her when unloading gear to make sure that she grabs the ones that have her name on them.  Of course, while I am babysitting her – there are several other individuals that aren’t getting any of the attention that they need.

The security items are a whole different story.  These things become serious safety hazards.  Anyone who has gotten stuck searching through the woods for a lost weapon or a missing pro-mask understands this.  On one field problem I spent way too much of my time doing accountability checks on her.  I finally had enough the 3rd time she misplaced her weapon in one day.  I put a zip-strip around her wrist and a zip strip around the front site post of the weapon and I zip stripped them together.  She wasn’t happy with me.  Now it was impossible for her to misplace her weapon.  I had recommended that she do her own dummy cord – I even gave her the parachute cord to do it with.  Nope – she didn’t want to help herself – so I had no choice but to help her the hard way.

I had an NCO that worked for me once that was such a poor soldier that I spent 6 months counseling her every drill weekend.  I was responsible for the recruit platoon.  This was a reserve type unit that had kids who hadn’t even been to basic training yet.  Because they weren’t really soldiers yet – they didn’t have to cut their hair and we couldn’t hold them to uniform standards.  Yet, each one of those kids wanted to learn how to wear the uniform and they wanted to look like soldiers.  “You know – you volunteered to be here and I’m not going to tell you that you have to cut your hair or iron your uniform or shine your boots.  However, if you want to be a soldier – you start by looking like one – how can I help you?”  Every one of those kids ironed their uniform, wore their hair according to regulation and shined their boots.  Every one of those kids…except the piece of work SGT I was given as a squad leader.

Every month started with uniform inspection.  Mostly to teach them what to expect and how to behave during an inspection.  Every single one of them tried to look “inspection ready.”  Their Squad Leader – slept in her uniform, was missing parts of it, shined her boots with hot Hershey bars, had her hair all over her collar with pink scrunchies and had none of her inspection materials (dog tags, drivers license, military ID.)  Every month was the same story and I often felt like I nagged her to within an inch of my sanity!  I never did it in front of the “kids” – but every morning at drill I would present her with another counseling statement for her file.  It reached the point that I just had them made up and ready to go.  She would weep and sniffle and cry about how she didn’t want to train new kids – she wanted to be out with the “real soldiers.”  Well – my response was always, “When you become a real SGT – you can serve with the real soldiers.”

It is a hard thing – to keep your soldiers on the straight and narrow.  There is a fine line between corrective action and abuse.  It wears at an NCO – dealing with people who just don’t seem to get it!  It appears in this recent case of Suicide by Bully – the NCO’s crossed that line. 

I was a road guard one day when I was in basic training.  All I had to do on this road march was to push the button that dropped the road barrier so that cars would have to stop.  I pushed the button too soon.  As the platoon ran by in their full battle rattle – the LT said to me, “You didn’t follow the instructions, PVT…as a result – you have made good soldiers run.”  I learned a valuable lesson that day – more about leadership than about running or road barriers.  I was the only one who heard his statement.  I wasn’t made to do pushups or made to run or forced to low-crawl across the road.  The only one that knew I had made a mistake was that LT and the PLT SGT.  The PLT SGT never said a word to me and the LT never brought it up again.  I learned to listen more closely and to understand directions fully.  There is nothing wrong with asking a question.  I wanted to be one of the GOOD Soldiers. 

I wanted to be one of the GOOD leaders – I hope that I was.  If I was ever any good at my job as an NCO – I know it is because of the leaders who taught me well.  I wish I could thank them.

Peace,

Joan

Bullies

Hello, Friends,

I have had bullies on my mind the last couple of days.  Anytime bullying makes the news, it makes me think, and remember.  I mentioned in my last post that I was the target of bullies as a child.  I won’t go into a lot of details, because they are still painful for me.  I know that this blog is about MST – but what is Military Sexual Trauma if not an extreme form of bullying.

I think that one of the things that I truly loved about the Army was that there was a connection and friendships formed quickly.  I was different – but in the Army – I was the same as all of the other girls.  We shared a similar mission.  As you know, I went from the Guard to the Active Duty.  I was always the “weirdo” in school, but in Basic Training, I was the funny girl that people enjoyed spending time with.  There was acceptance.

My first few days on Active Duty were frightening.  I was 19 years old and I didn’t know anyone.  Everyone always seemed to be in a group and I wasn’t sure how to make friends.  I still struggled socially.  I hadn’t been there more than a few days and we were waiting in line for something…just like we always did.  These two very beautiful girls were talking about a party that was coming up.  I still remember their names, Pam and Maria.  Suddenly, out of the blue, they turned to me and said, “Hey, Joan…got any plans on Friday?”

These two pretty, popular, cool girls were asking me what I was doing Friday…why?  I couldn’t believe they were asking me this question – did they forget I was new here?  I simply responded that I really didn’t have any plans.  “You should come with us!  We are going to this great club.”  I couldn’t believe it was that simple.  In high school I would have been reminded that I didn’t have any friends because no one liked me.  Any questions about my plans were always the opening joke to the punchline so I was pretty excited. 

As it turned out, their boyfriends had a friend, so this would be a blind date…so to speak.  Actually, it was more of a handful of unattached girls being introduced to a handful of unattached guys.  We had a great time!  I made a lot of friends and these girls were more than willing to invite me into their little group.  The men I met that night weren’t about “hooking up,” their goal was to meet friends and maybe find someone to date. 

That night I discovered the simple joys of true acceptance.  They didn’t expect me to be anyone other than who I was.  They asked nothing of me except friendship and I expected nothing but the same.  The Army was the first opportunity that I had to be liked for who I was. 

Maybe that is part of why I took the first assaults so hard.  It not only destroyed who I was – it ruined who I was becoming.  The new open and happy me was being attacked.  The bullies had found me again.

I guess I really mean this to be an open letter to all of those who are bullied.  I want to encourage you – it does get better.  There are times it also gets worse.  However, there have been too many suicides lately.  Too many beautiful young lives cut short.  It is a little like smashing the egg just as the chick is being born.  Don’t smash your own egg! 

I am now in a place where I have a lot of friends – good friends.  People that I trust.  People that I enjoy just the way they are and they do the same for me.  It is okay for me to be different, it is okay that they are different, it is okay that you are different.  It’s old school – but there is something to be said for “I’m okay and Your okay!”

We recently had an event that brought some of our VSO members together.  It was a good time standing in the kitchen working our butts off to get the work done.  Three of the guys were picking on me – but it wasn’t cruel – it was funny.  I was giving as good as I got!  It was good.  It felt like being home again.

We were at my parents house for Thanksgiving and my father has my basic training picture up in his office.  One of my sons called me to come here.  I looked at the little girl in that picture.  My son said, “You know mom, you look a lot like Denise Richards in Starship Troopers.”  I laughed at him!  I was an ugly little child – that is what everyone said and that is what I believed. 

I looked at that little girl and suddenly it occured to me:  “You know – he’s right…I do look a little like her.”  Thanks, son!

Peace,

Joan

Ohio School Shooting

Hello, Friends.

I haven’t had much to say lately.  Life is very busy and has been a little rough.  However, Monday’s news out of Ohio leads me back to the computer.

On Monday, a young man reported to be TJ Lane, walked into his local high school and shot several people.  Two young men are dead and TJ’s life is over.  I have to wonder how many of those children will carry the terror with them for the rest of their lives.  Reports are still mixed – but many people are reporting that TJ was a victim of bullying.  It seems to me that he probably had specific targets – it’s not really like he was shooting randomly.  There were Twitter and Facebook posts that showed that this kid was looking for someone to do something to make him stop. 

I was the victim of bullying as a child.  In fact, I was bullied daily in my school, and it wasn’t always just verbal.  Sticks and stones might break bones – but words can never hurt me.  That’s bullshit!  Words – they hurt and they become a part of our psyche in a way that creates a lifetime of problems.  I struggle with negative self talk – those hateful little voices in my head that remind me that I am ugly, stupid, annoying and not worth loving.  My husband says that I shouldn’t judge myself so harshly – but I can’t stop those voices some days.

There has been a lot of research about how to stop school shootings – and teenage suicide – since most all of them are related to bullying.  There was an article on a website today that said, “Someone should have called authorities about those Facebook and Twitter posts.”

I’m sorry – but by the time someone is making an outcry on a social website – we are way past the point of “calling an authority.”  The only people who seem to be learning anything from these school shootings are the kids who are being bullied.  They are learning how to take things into their own hands – and they are throwing away precious young lives…theirs and their victims.

I was watching a news report about this and someone said, “being bullied is part of growing up.”  Why?  Why is being treated like shit part of growing up?

Liz Trotta, Fox News, reported that women who serve in the military should expect to be raped.  Why?  Why is being raped part of military service.

I can see the links between these two statements.  Rape is always about power and control; bullying is always about power and control.  It is about subjugating and humiliting another human being. 

Frankly, what the terrorists did on 9/11 was about subjugation and creating fear…and this nation has given everything to make sure that never happens again!  Why…Why do we treat these other issues like they are “part of life.”  Imagine if our Nation’s leadership had stood up on 9/12 and said, “We live in a dangerous world and we should just expect to have our citizens murdered.”

Since lots of other people are giving their opinions on how to stop school shootings – I figured that I would give mine.  Mine comes from experience…not just my own, but I have watched my children face down their bullies as well.

First – children are stupid and they cannot see the consequences of their actions.  I promise you that not a single “high school bully” is looking at this news thinking – “Wow…I better change my ways and be nicer to people.”  Not happening. 

I have taught my children to be kind to everyone, not necessary to be everyone’s friend, but they do have to be kind.  This doesn’t prevent them from being bullied – it just means that the minimum standard of their behavior is to be kind.

My daughter has been bullied, alot.  I used to think that the beautiful girls didn’t get bullied – but she has shown me just how wrong that is.  I have taught her to be kind to everyone, but don’t be a door mat.  Stand up for yourself.  Luckily, she has two older brothers, who have also been taught to protect their sister.  Don’t start anything – but be prepared to finish something.  When she was in second grade she had a third grade boy who wouldn’t leave her alone.  Yes, I know he had a crush on her, but he was also becoming physically violent with her.  He would push her down, pull her hair and try to touch her inappropriately.  The school was called over and over and over again.  There was no result.  Finally, I had enough.  My daughter was given specific instructions to wait with the yard monitor for her brothers to get off the bus at her school and they would take her home.  Her brothers were given specific instructions to beat that kids ass if he started anything.  Don’t kill him – just scare him.  (Her brothers were in 4th and 6th grade.)  Then, I told the Principal the “new” plan for my daughters protection.  The Principal apparently informed the other parents and her tormentor – he never got near her again.

The one thing that I have noticed about school administrators and teachers is that they really don’t know what to do with a child who is being tormented.  If I had a nickle for everytime someone said to me, “You bring it on yourself,” I could have gone to Harvard or Yale.  Yes, it was my fault that I was different.  It was my fault that I preferred baseballs to Barbies.  It was my fault that I was reading Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare when the other kids were reading Judy Bloome novels and comic books.  It was my fault that I was fascinated with science and biology.  It was my fault that I loved to learn and study and play football and catch worms.  It was my fault that when my female classmates were buying bras I was still buying baseball cards (I love that gum!)

It was my fault that I joined the Army.  It was my fault that I was a woman.  It was my fault that I was good at my job.  It was my fault that I was a threat to a man’s ego.  It was my fault I got hired for a job he wanted.

WHEN IN THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO STOP BLAMING THE VICTIMS!

There are all of these programs in schools about character and about tolerance.  The thousands of dollars we are spending on these programs is not helping.  The programs are useless.  If they were working we wouldn’t be talking about another school shooting – about another teenage suicide.  All of this transcends into adulthood, for both the perpetrators and the victims. 

Administrators and Teachers – stop and look.  Don’t blame the victims.  It is okay in this world for someone to be different.  I had a very special teacher who taught me to write.  She gave me little story starters when I was done with my work (mostly so I wouldn’t disturb others – I have always been a social person.)  That was over 30 years ago…and I still like to write.  She would take 10 minutes out of her day to make little notes in the margain – and to tell me I was special.  I was blessed, I had a lot of teachers who were kind to me, and they made school bearable.  I also had a handful of administrators who considered me a problem.  Never the other kids…just me…because I was different.

I am different.  I have learned to be more accepting – although I still have times where those ugly voices in my head remind me everytime I say something stupid.  I still like baseball.  I still like medicine.  I like Poe and Shakespeare.  I like to write.  I still love those few teachers that took a moment out of their day – they are in my prayers.

The difference between a shooter and a survivor?  Hope.  Hope that tomorrow will be better.  Hope that out there in this nasty world is someone who will love us for who we are. 

Hope for peace – both in our world and in our heads. 

Peace,

Joan

Joan of Arc….The Movie

Hi, friends.

I spent the last two nights watching my Christmas present from Brigid.  She bought me the film Joan of Arc starring LeeLee Sobieski.  It was released in 1999 – I believe it was originally made for TV.

It was very, very good!  I would put it high on my rental list if you want a really good movie that will make you cry.  I couldn’t help but scream – “Run, Joan, Run!”  Of course, she didn’t listen and the end of the story is that she is burned at the stake as a heretic.

For those who have never heard the story of St. Joan – it is a whole lot like many of our stories, as survivors.  A very young Joan believes that she is being called by God to lead the French to a victory over the English and to reunite her country under one French King (King Charles for those who are keeping track.)  The Church declares that her voices and her cause are real and the King allows her to lead the Army.  They defeat the British and take back a large portion of France and Charles is crowned King.  The people of France believe that Joan may be the foretold Maid of Lorraine and follow her willingly.  Of course, once the King is crowned he no longer needs this girl who challenges him to continue to unite his kingdom and be a good king…

He can’t just send her away – but he makes sure that she ends up in the hands of the British – who are more than happy to have a dishonest Bishop put on a Kangaroo Court and try her as a Heretic.  In the end she is burned at the stake as a “witch.”

She is tried for wearing men’s clothing and denying her sex – but she was being held in a prison guarded only by men.  When she wears a dress the men try to rape her.  It is only by returning to men’s clothing and lacing her britches to her tunic that she can fend them off.

There are many questions about Joan even today.  The trial transcripts and eyewitness testimony were rediscovered and it is one of the most widely documented cases of the Dark Ages.  Some people say that she was an Auditory Schizophrenic and that the voices and vision she had could not be real.  (Joan was lead by St. Michael, St. Catherine and St. Margaret.)  580 years have gone by and people are still calling her crazy. 

It was very, very hard for me to watch the end.  Knowing that they would destroy her for their own political purposes.  They couldn’t just send her away – no, they had to shame and discredit her.  It all seems so very familiar, doesn’t it.

It is no wonder that I chose this remarkable young girl as my Patron Saint and that I use that name to post on this blog.  She had a vision and a calling.  Not for herself but for the people of her Country.  She did everything that she could to be true to that vision.  Even though she had many successes, she became a “problem” for the men in power.  They gave her to the enemy, discredited her, ruined her reputation and smeared her name.  Finally, they burned her at the stake as a “bitch”….I mean “witch.” 

Oops – Sorry.   Joan was gotten rid of for being a “witch”…I was gotten rid of for being a “bitch.”

I think that one of the most painful things about rape and betrayal in the military is that we volunteered to be there.  It’s not like we, as women, were drafted.  Despite our reasons for entering the military, I know that most of the women I have known, are there because we believe.  We believe in our Country and in living and dying to defend freedom.  I know that is why I joined…and I know that is why Brigid joined.  It was our duty and our honor to give back.  Our dear Father’s had both served in the military.  (My Father’s tour was much easier than Brigid’s Father’s tour.)  They both knew what we were facing (not the rape…but as women in the military) and they are both very proud of their little girls.

We had a mission, we did our best, we had lots of successes….and then we became a problem.  We didn’t disappear when they wanted us to – we didn’t “service” them as required.  We were betrayed…declared to be bitches and driven out.

There are days when we ask…”Why Me?”  I guess Joan of Arc must have had the same questions.  St. Joan of Arc is the Patron Saint of Women Soldiers and of Rape Victims.  Hmmmm – makes you wonder if this isn’t just another “miracle.”  I’m sure that this wouldn’t mean much to her in the grand scheme of things and all of the people who admire her – but I can’t help but believe, just a little bit, that maybe her suffering is a gift from God to all of us.  That we can look back in time and see this young woman who held on to her beliefs…no matter what.  Maybe she is there to remind me that they may have taken a large part of who I am…who I was…but they can’t take my beliefs and they can’t take my honor and they can’t take my values.

They say that Joan’s heart survived burning at the stake – not only did it not burn – it still had fresh blood in it.  Maybe that is what I need to remember today.  They took everything…but her heart.  That she kept.  So long as we keep heart…there is hope. 

Blessings and Peace,

Joan

Macadamia Farm

Greetings from the Macadamia Farm.

Tomorrow begins the official start of the Holiday Season!  It also begins some of the craziest times for many of us.  I heard this reference made in a Television show one day…”Macadamia Farm” which was a kind euphamism for “Nut House!”  That sort of describes the holidays for me…I just can’t wait until they are over.  Quite frankly, it sort of describes every day for me!!

However, Thanksgiving wouldn’t mean anything without stopping to comment on all of the thinks I am Thankful for!    So here it goes!

I’m thankful for my husband – who has lived with me in my Macadamia Farm and put up with the good days and the bad days…even though he has no clue whatsoever.  Sorry, baby…but it is true.  Regardless, you are right there with me and I love ya!

I’m thankful for the bestestestest friend in the entire world…Brigid – who is my “roommate” in the Macadamia Farm.  At least we get to be crazy together.  I love ya!

I’m thankful that God chose to spare the life of Brigid’s beautfiul Grandaughter and the amazing light she has put in our lives.  (The birth was very rough…but all is well!)  I’m also thankful that Brigid’s daughter became a mother that day – a real mother – that loves her children.

I am thankful for my own teenagers – who are working very hard at putting me on the Macadamia Farm!  I know that this phase will pass.

I am thankful for the “angels” in our lives that show up unexpected and provide a little help along the way.

I am thankful that my job allows me to advocate for survivors of Military Sexual Trauma, even if I can’t always be upfront and honest about being a survivor myself, I can sink my teeth into problems and fight for what is right.  There are days it leaves me a wreak..but at least I can try.

I’m thankful for all of you who take a few minutes out of your day to read what we have written and to stand with us.  You allow us the opportunity to share with the world what we have survived and the work that must continue. 

May the love of God, joy, peace and happiness be a part of your Holiday season and throughout the coming year.

Blessings from the Macadamia Farm!

Joan

The Abyss

Hello Friends!

I love words…I always have.  To me, they are tangible, they have a texture and they have a feel.  I also love the way that one word can have two meanings.  As you know, we have recently jumped into the world of Facebook.  Unlike this blog, Facebook requires you to be “you.”  You aren’t supposed to have a fake identity.  I finally figured out a way to use an Avatar on Facebook – not to be malicious – but to be anonymous.  The majority of my real Facebook friends have no idea about my history of Military Sexual Trauma and I really don’t want them to.

The internet to me is a lot like an Abyss.  It is a deep and immeasurable place with no beginning and no end.  You can send your messages out but there is no guarentee that anyone will hear them.  When I first started this blog it was for me, and for Brigid, to do something we both enjoy…writing.  It was a form of therapy for me to say everything I ever wanted to say but without any of the consequences for my words.  I’m not a mean person and I don’t generally say nasty things to people…but what I am good at is failing to filter!  I just don’t do it very well!  In the rare instance when I voice my opinion in public on these matters it is usually met with a stony or uncomfortable silence.  Why can’t people just speak openly and honestly about this subject?  Even in my workplace there is often a “cactus in my shorts” type of response to things we should be talking about.  I don’t think it is intentional by any stretch of the imagination.  However, sometimes people’s “deer in the headlights” look and their abrupt silence compounds the shame that I already feel.

Some of my confusion and shame has given way to a deep need to be an Advocate.  If you read back in the blog you will see that I did a special training for my employer on Military Sexual Trauma and providing really good Sensitive Practice.  Thanks to the kindness of some friends I was able to include the voices of survivors and our nightmare experiences in healthcare.  I was able to bring suggestions and needs directly to the people who need to hear it the most – because they are the ones that can implement this.  The training was a success!  In fact, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I will be giving the same training again.  I’m totally pumped!

Abyss is one of those words that has two meanings, as I mentioned earlier.  Besides being an immeasurable place it is also used to describe something that is unfathomable.  Something that is difficult to wrap your head around.  Many of us who are MST survivors have lived in an Abyss.  We have been surrounded by the Abyss and it has lived inside of us.  There has been more than once when everything inside of me felt like a dark and empty hole with no light.

One day, I found a blog written by Jay.  He is linked on our page.  I made contact with him and he planted a seed.  He encouraged me to let the words that I love so much roll off of my fingers.  What he primarily did was to shine a flashlight into the Abyss.  That little light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel.

That is why I am pushing this farther into the Abyss.  I still like my privacy…but I want to hold a flashlight for someone else.  Those of us who have survived and have begun to heal have a story to tell.  More than a story – we have a legacy – and it is up to us to lead others out of the Abyss. 

Blessings and Peace,

Joan