healing

day 24: the flu: healing the body + mind, pt. 1

Tuesday, 3/29/16 

I have the flu. Not the “I have a cold flu” - the legit flu. You know, the one where your feet hit the ground in the morning to get out of bed and your whole body lights up achey in pain. That flu. Dang it.

I spent the entire day in bed, sleeping on and off… and it has me thinking...

How come our physical symptoms are so easy to hear and attend to, but when our spiritual body is sick, we stave off taking the necessary steps to heal? We ignore its signs and symptoms. We write them off as unwarranted, weak, or as something we just don’t have the time to deal with. Then, inevitably, whatever it is that those warning signs have been desperately trying to get us to notice, comes crashing down like a ton of bricks (usually at a very inconvenient or embarrassing time.) 

It’s interesting - in the last couple of years, there has been a health and wellness industry uprising of sorts. And while of course eating organic, unprocessed foods, and bringing your own tote bags to the farmer’s market has been on the agenda, the seeming backbone of this fairly new and thriving movement is our mental and spiritual health, both individual and collective. Almost any article on the subject, whether it’s about organic foods or non-toxic beauty products, also makes it a point to mention our mental state - touting the benefits of a regular mindful meditation and/or yoga practice. As if the world is finally recognizing that, “hey- this planet can actually be a pretty tough place to live.” 

But to go from living a life where we don’t really think about our own hearts and minds, to one where it regularly occurs to us, takes practice - and bravery. The fear of being selfish can be plaguing. As soon as we can understand the concept, we’re taught not to be self-centered. 

Friends, there’s a difference between being self-centered, and taking the time to center yourself. 

Life is not centered. It’s all over the place - that’s what makes it a wild adventure. I can’t think of anything more boring that knowing exactly what is going to happen in every moment. There are however, two sides to every coin. The unpredictability can be exciting. The unpredictability can also be heartbreaking.

The human body, if sick, ignored, or taken care of poorly, shuts down. We feel sickness coming on, we push through and ignore it, and a few days later, we find ourselves stuck in bed, worse off that if we’d just decided to take better care of ourselves at the first sign of a problem. Our minds are no different. If we don’t take the time to do some self inventory, and listen when our spiritual body is telling us it needs something, we will inevitably crash. If we ignore how we feel or numb our feelings with a substance or other habit, those things don’t go away. They just get put in a pressure cooker… 

[check back on Thursday for part 2 - for now, I'm going back to sleep to dream of here... my thoughts need time to formulate, and my body needs more sleep]

"Every time I stand before a beautiful beach, its waves seem to whisper to me: if you choose the simple things, and find joy in nature's simple treasures, life and living need not be so hard."           - Psyche Roxas Mendoza

"Every time I stand before a beautiful beach, its waves seem to whisper to me: if you choose the simple things, and find joy in nature's simple treasures, life and living need not be so hard."           - Psyche Roxas Mendoza

day 10: what if?

Tuesday, 3/15/2016

Blerg blerg blerg blerg blerg (sung to the tune of Rhianna’s “Work.”) 

My favorite word to chuck around when I’m less than amused my something is blerg. Oddly close to the word blog.. 

I am feeling blerg about my blog. That is to say, I am feeling afraid about my blog. 

In the past five minutes, I have realized that in my beckybrain, fear (my arch nemesis,) is almost always accompanied by two small, yet mind-numbingly frustrating words… “what if?” 

What if…. what if…. what if….

“what if I tell my story and am forever labeled ‘Becky - you know my friend that was raped?” 

“what if people, much like the police, don’t believe me?” 

“what if no one reads it?” 

“what if this insight into who I am (aka, me sprawling out some of my innermost thoughts for anyone on the internet to read) causes people I know to dislike me?” 

“what if I like a guy (and we're friends on Facebook so he knows I have this thing) and he reads it and he is like 'whoahhh, no thanks?'” 

“what if people ask me questions that I don’t know how to answer?” 

“what if I tell my story and those involved feel disrespected?” 

“what if giving people such unfiltered insight into my soul is a horrible idea?” 

“what if people close to me are shocked by decisions I made (that they don’t know about and I may write about) in the aftermath and push me away?” 

“what if I’m an idiot?” 

Two tiny words…. but oh so much power. What. If. 

But then, almost out of nowhere - 

What if in someone labeling me in a way I fear, they immediately think to reach out when they have a friend who goes through something similar? 

About a year after my attack, one of my guy friends turned to me and said, “but that can’t be right. Things like that don’t happen to girls like you.” What if the realization that things like this happen to girls like anything changes how he sees the women around him and it has a ripple effect?  

What if even one girl reads this who needs a voice? 

What if reading this blog causes those I love to understand me more

What if I like a guy and he reads it and thinks, “wow, she’s [insert positive notion here]?” 

What if people ask me questions and I’m honest? 

What if in writing about it, it lets those who helped know how grateful I am for what they did? 

What if giving people such unfiltered insight into my soul does just that - gives them insight into my soul? 

What if those decisions I wish I’d made differently resonate with somebody going through a similar time and it helps them know that nobody gets to judge or determine your path to healing? 

What if I’m smart? 

And the biggest one - WHAT IF this is not about me and not about you but about the person that reads it that needs to know she’s not alone? That needs to know the pain ends and the joy does in fact come? 

And just like that, what if, has become a phrase I love. 

PS - Coldplay has a song called "What If," as if I needed anymore of a reason to decidedly love the phrase. 

day 8: rape & the righteousness of God : a glimmer of grateful light

Sunday, 3/13/2016

I watched the documentary “The Hunting Ground” today. I also had a conversation about the righteousness of God with one of my pastors. Talk about juxtapositions. 

These are two conversations that don’t go together. And yet, deep down in a place somewhere looking to get a little light, I know that they kinda do.

I know this because the idea that God is righteous in ALL circumstances, even circumstances that are heinous, is at the very core of my grievances with Him and this whole experience.  

Only 36% of rapes, 34% of attempted rapes, and 26% of sexual assaults get reported to the police. (National Institue of Justice)

26% of rapes reported to the police lead to an arrest. Of that 26%, 20% are prosecuted.” - FBI Uniform Crime Reports - 2010

The documentary is full of statistics, but these two haunt me and I have to do the math for myself:

- In 2011 reports from a 2010 study called "the National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey” (which took place with the support of the National Institute of Justice and the Department of Defense) stated that 1 in 5 women had been raped or experienced attempted rape. Other outlets report 1 in 4, and some 1 in 6, so to be somewhere average, we’ll go with 1 in 5.

Ok so:

If 1 in 5 women in America are victims of sexual assault and there are about 157 million women in America   - that takes us to 31,400,000 women assaulted.  

- only 36% report their rape = 11,304,000 reported rapes 

- only 34% report attempted rape = 10,676,00 reported attempted rapes

- only 26% report sexual assault = 8,164,000 reported sexual assaults

The math in all of those situations brings you to at least 20,000,000 unreported assaults. So regardless of the fact that we can’t measure which 1’s in 5 experienced what version of assault, we can assume that 20,000,000 sexual assaults of some kind are unreported. 

Talking about rape only, 26% of the 36% of reported rapes (11,304,000) lead to an arrest - ok so that’s 2,939,040 arrests which = 8,364,960 cases without arrest. 

Of the 2,939,040 arrests, 20% are prosecuted - so 587,888 prosecutions, which = 2,351,152 cases without prosecution. 

So why does it shock people that survivors are hesitant to press charges? Especially when 98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail. (RAINN.org) Why report and go through the grueling process of attempting to bring a perpetrator to justice with those odds? 

Trying to give logic to that night and my decision not to press charges is a never-ending cycle. 

Trying to reconcile it with the righteousness of God is on another level.

But then I get a glimmer of light. And that inner conversation with God goes something like this: 

"What are you grateful for in that situation?" 

"What? Are you serious? What am I grateful for? Are you (expletive) kidding me?” 

“No.” 

“I’m not grateful. There is nothing to be grateful for.” 

“Really? What were you afraid of that night?"

“I was afraid that they wouldn’t let me leave. I was afraid that they would kill me. I was afraid that she’d been taken forever. I was afraid that I would have to call her mom and tell her that she wasn’t coming home and that I had no idea where she was. I was afraid that I was responsible for a horrible life she may be subjected to by whoever took her.” 

“And did that happen?” 

“No” 

Once I found one thing to be grateful for, it was a lot easier to come up with some more:

  • I’m grateful that my friend got out of that apartment.
  • I’m grateful that she doesn’t remember what happened there.
  • I’m grateful that this didn’t taint our friendship - she doesn’t blame me and I don’t blame her.
  • I’m grateful that I don’t remember the bulk of my time inside the other apartment.
  • I’m grateful that I had someone to call the next morning who answered the phone.
  • I’m grateful that my parents had the means to fly to New York from Europe.
  • I’m grateful that this was not the time that these criminals escalated to something even worse.
  • I’m grateful that I’m alive.
  • I’m grateful that I have amazing family and friends who have so graciously walked with me through the healing process.
  • I’m grateful that I’m not alone. 

I’m stunned to see even this tiny glimmer. 

Gratitude is a weapon of worship. It is allowing me a glimpse into where the righteousness of God exists in this situation.

My thoughts often veer off to,  “why did God save my life? Why me? Why not any of the other millions of people facing potential death each day?” 

In our conversation, my pastor stops me in my tracks - “stop trying to make yourself worthy of the righteousness of God; you’re not and you never will be. That’s the beauty of it. When you rest in your unworthiness, you honor His righteousness.”

This may seem harsh. I may never see the righteousness of God in that night. But somehow, it was exactly what I needed to hear. It removed the all-about-me attitude that was blocking me from seeing what I do see:  

- I do see that I not only survived, but fought my way through the recovery, and have come out the other side stronger and with a blazing passion to fight for change. So when God tells me that He will never let me be pushed past my limit, I know He’s right. (1 Cor 10:13, the MSG) 

- I do see that something guided me in the direction of home. So when God tells me that He will never leave me or forsake me, I know He’s true. (Deuteronomy 31:6, NIV)

- I do see that instead of this pushing my friend and I apart, we are closer than ever. I also see that my friend who helped me came, regardless of our history. So when God says that a friend loves at all times (is always loyal) and a brother is born to help in time of need, I know He cares about my heart. (Proverbs 17:7 NLT) 

- I do see that this experience has been one of the greatest trials I’ve ever faced, but that through it, I’ve experienced more growth than I could have imagined. So when God tells me to consider it a sheer gift when tests and challenges come my way because it means that my faith-life will be forced into the open, allowing me to become mature and well-developed, deficient in nothing, I know He is always on my side. (James 1:2-4 The MSG.)

- I do see that within hours of originally posting this blog, I had quite a number of people reach out to say that they were also survivors of rape or assault, and felt like they finally had a voice; or that their friend went through this and is struggling and they were sending it along so that they would know they aren’t alone. So when God says that He works all things together for good, I know that He can take even the most broken situations, and use them for good. (Romans 8:28 NIV.)

Now let me be abundantly clear - I AM NOT SAYING THAT RAPE IS RIGHTEOUS. What I am saying is that in my own personal experience, I am beginning to see that even in the most UNrighteous situations (caused by free will,) God can take what was meant for evil, and He can use if for good. And that right there, is in fact, the righteousness of God. 

So I’m understanding it just a little through the lens of gratitude. And this little glimmer of light shines ever so much brighter with each passing second. 

52 Days

out of the ashes and into the light

When I sat on the beach meditating that morning (you may already be like, "oh geeeeez make it stop!") and had the thought, “if JD can do that, what can you do for 52 days?”, I decided to begin a 52 day challenge. I’d been stuck in a negative space (that's a kind way of putting it) for months and wanted to drastically change my life. So, I starting thinking of personal mantras that I could adopt for 52 days, all with the underlying feeling that this was a silly, new-age-y, foundation-less idea that I was concocting. Basically, I was annoying myself. 

But then I felt prompted to count out 52 days on my calendar. Day 52 would land on April, 26, 2016. Uhhh what? That couldn't be right. So I counted again. And again. And one more time for good measure because I don’t believe in coincidences, (also because anything in the math realm, even something as rudimentary as counting, is not my strong suit.) My friends might tell you that I have a tendency to take things to be signs. I can categorically say that this was not one of those instances. Because of that, I decided to not only go on this journey, but write about it. Don’t fear - that idea was immediately accompanied with humbling and self-deprecating thoughts like: “Becky, who the actual eff is going to want to read a '52 day journey' about some random, normal chick who doesn't have any idea what it is she's journeying toward or even what she wants out of it, inspired by a random encounter on an Antiguan speedboat?” But that date...

Two years ago, on April 26, 2014, nine months after moving to New York to pursue my dreams, I was drugged at a bar, taken to an apartment with the promise of finding my missing friend, forcibly held there, assaulted, raped, and then physically thrown into the rain with the trash. It changed the course of my life. 

Sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, fear, recklessness, shame, confusion, pretense, destruction, excess, bitterness, self-hatred, and doubt became the foundations upon which I very secretly, and somewhat unknowingly, rebuilt my life. (Geez, that's a lot of emotions for one sentence.)

I didn’t want to be hurt. I didn’t want to give my attackers any power. I didn’t want to be another statistic. I definitely didn’t want people to identify me as this. And I certainly didn’t want anyone to know the deep wounds, previously healed with some antiseptic and a bandaid, that this ripped wide open. I didn't want to think about any of it.

So while bleeding out, I stuffed some lap pads in there (avid Grey’s Anatomy watcher over here,) abandoned my dreams, and said I was fine and “healed."

I “knew" that one day I would understand why this was allowed to happen and that "God was at work somewhere in it." But I didn't actually believe that. I just knew it's what I was supposed to say. When you really know something is true, you feel it in your bones (or in your fingers and toes… Love Actually anyone?)

I felt like I was being blown around in a tornado. But because I didn’t want to be feeling enraged and embarrassed, I decided to "trust God" the way I have been taught to my whole life. And I believed that the longer I blindly trusted Him, the healing would just come; the more that I got on with life and ignored it, this would fade into the background. That I was exhibiting faith. But I wasn't and it didn't.

Within a month, I stepped into new leadership roles at my church. Within nine months, I decided to start a foundation (this is how I ARISE was originally born) that would raise awareness towards the issue. But being a highly functioning, jerry-rigger of an emergency surgeon on my heart helped no one, least of all me, and the in-between was filled with patterns of self-destruction, often hidden in the dark of late night and early morning hours. 

I wanted I ARISE to be a non-profit, activist, organization that pioneered change, raised awareness and shifted the reality of so many women in the world. My free time was filled with researching sexual assault statistics, finding people who wanted to partner with me, watching documentaries, building a website, putting together a support team, partnering with a production company and filming the beginnings of a documentary. But I quickly burned out. How could I build something designed to help others when I hadn’t even begun to truly pick up my own pieces? But instead of asking for help, I ran in the opposite direction. I stepped down from leadership in my church and within two months, stopped going to church altogether. 

A blog was certainly never on my agenda. The thought just kind of arrived in my mind a few days prior to meeting JD, and I immediately dismissed it. I’m one of those cynics who is almost instantly annoyed at anyone who starts a sentence with, “Well on my blog…” - oh yes, please do tell me about your surely earth shattering blog filled with political opinions, healthy recipes, spiritual guidance, conspiracy theories, and an essay on how if you were the coach of your favorite sports team, they would absolutely, positively, never have suffered such an embarrassing and clearly avoidable loss to                          (insert winning team here.) Not that I don't understand the anger that drives that last one - I mean, I still feel personally victimized by the Texans loss to Miami last season where at the half, they were down 41-0. Sorry. Not the point and I will now get back on track.

Despite my hoity toity attitude toward the blogosphere, here I am blogging, so clearly God humbles our negative attitudes and pride even when it blows - actually let’s just be real here, being humbled pretty much always blows because it means admitting you're in the wrong….oh wait, is that just me? 

So the idea is this: one entry for each of the 52 days of this journey. The day of the idea is March 5 and will go up tomorrow, April 30. Day 1 = March 6 = May 1. 

I have no idea what these 52 days will hold, and therefore, no freaking clue what this blog will look like. Today is March 14, aka day 9. I started writing this introductory entry on March 8, aka day 3, and it'll probably get another edit before it goes live. All other entries will be in the voice of that present day. Here’s what I do know: this will not be a curated blog where everything falls under the same well thought out theme, follows a fluid storyline, or depicts photos all edited the same way for aesthetic consistency. It will be honest (likely to a fault) and at times will seem random - but uh HELLO, we all have a million random thoughts a day...I'm just the ding dong that's putting mine out on the internet for all to see - I'm also the ding dong who is immediately beginning to question this decision.  

But here I go - 52 days, huh? Doesn't seem so long until you come up with a weird idea to span them, and then it's like uhhhh what was I thinking? But if JD could survive his 52 days (I tell you all about that tomorrow,) I can get it together for this. And if I can't, well, I've got a lot more to figure out than I realize! 

 If you've stuck it out thus far, thanks for reading. Hopefully you'll come back and see what happens. 

One thing I've learned already - adventure isn’t for the faint of heart, that’s for dang sure.