Yes.It's a competition thing.

Yes. Tonight I had another realization that Everything with my mother is a competition. It was with my father, my weight, it was the entire time growing up. It is with my son and even with My house to this very day.  Everything, every every everything is a competition. What does a daughter do with that?  It's so outside of the relationship I have with my own daughter, that  I can not even imagine.  We are not in the race I am her coach and the one that  wants so much for her. That has never been the case for me. My mother and I have always been equals in the same race. Letting that sink in that my mother and I have been equals,  we have always been that way.  My entire life I have been running the same race as my mother. That is so hard to write, to comprehend to even wrap my head around.  I never had a coach on the sideline, I never had that encouragement,that person who I knew was always on my side.  I was just expected to survive.  I hope that in realizing this, somethings will start to make sense for me, maybe something will click and I will better understand. Maybe it will make living with her today that much easier, it has to really because I am drowning in that competition.

It's so hard because, its just recently that I realized there was a competition thing between us.  I am one of the most un-competitive people you will ever meet.  It's just not who I am.   I don't care who comes first I want everyone to be happy and healthy.  I want everyone to be cared for and be safe.  I do that making myself last sometimes but oh well.  I do believe that my mother wants all of those same things only she makes herself first.  And that is a huge difference and a place where the struggle is humongous.  I just don't understand wanting things at the detriment of others.  And she doesn't even see that detriment.  I mean it has literally been like this my entire life.  I can still see so clearly, them, my parents standing in the kitchen.  He was kissing her staring at me,  and I felt terrible. I felt terrible for my mother knowing what she was going to have to do.  I can remember his beaty eyes and laughing looking at me. I can remember that he called it a sandwich.   And he laughed and joked that he wanted to make a sandwich, and I remember him going down the hall to their room. I don't remember what I said to my mother but she said that she had to make him happy and would be out in a few minutes.  My heart literally breaks writing this.  I think that my little brain was more than confused.  I was being left on my own,  so worried about her and yet there was no one worried about me. I remember it being the weekend. And I would watch the lone ranger and the rifleman I would lie right in front of the big console Curtis Mathis TV, my mind being everywhere, wanting it to end.  Wanting more than anything for my mom to come out so I could make sure she was safe.  It felt like forever.  And then She would come out into the living room while he slept.  And I never understood how she just pretended that everything was fine. In my little mind he was hurting her.  I remember there being so much anger there, I just wanted to be safe; to feel that I was safe but I didn't. I never felt safe  Then later he would come out of the bedroom, usually in his underwear and he would stare at me like see this is how its supposed to be its not a big deal.  My poor little brain, I was absolutely confused tying to fit all this craziness into some sort of normal.  There was no competition, she was married to him, her choice. I was his daughter and I hated every second of it. How in the world was I seen as competition for her???  .  I think of so many different circumstances and I so wanted her to save me, to make things better to see and hear the things that I couldn't say and there was nothing. I was left on my own.  I so wonder what was in her head when we would go to bed at the same time and I went n her bed.  That was never my choice.  The night I couldn't stop crying .  I was 5, but the weight that I carried.  The tears just wouldn't stop it was a completed rape that night and my little body was in unimaginable pain, and she was in my room but still I was all alone. Even her being there trying to console me, I felt like she wasn't there  I knew he wasn't far away, I was more than terrified.  Then he did show up they fought then I was left.  I needed someone to pick me up hold me tell me I was ok. Tell me I was safe, but instead I was left tearing up my tissues until there was literally nothing left of me or those Kleenex.  I knew I was not important, because she had to go make him happy. I see that watching from somewhere else in the room still and I can not make sense.  A part of my brain understands and knows another part of my brain is like what in the hell were these adults doing. I see it as clear as sitting here at my computer. To this very day at almost 45 years old, I see it all happening to little Callahan.  I have all these adult thoughts and I want to jump in make everything OK. I want to save her.  I want to pick her up and run as far away as we can so she can rest; so she can heal so that little Callahan knows someone saw her and someone did something.   This is a new level of heartbreaking. How in the world little callahan ever survive?? She did but Barely.

Even later in life, its always been the same.  I got really skinny I had lost 125 pounds and there was no support no encouragement.  I was going to get a trainer and I talked to her about it and she said what a waste of money that it was blah blah blah.  Nothing kind and caring.  I can even remember eating lunch at the table and my brother snorting at me like a pig and I was I think a size 6 and she laughed. He was not told to stop t not redirected. I was just the laughing stock of the table.  So I got up tears streaming threw my lunch away and left the room. There was no care , or concern .  No one was worried about my heart.  Then a few weeks later she went and got a trainer and started this gym thing and was in my face about it.  It was like look at me look at me.  I didn't have a word to say.

When I decided to pres charges,  I remember the flowers that she gave me, the next day when I told her that my uncle wasn't the only one he hurt. They were beautiful and for a second I felt like I mattered.  As my case progressed, there was nothing.  After close to two years when we were finally going to trial, and they had the witnesses come to the DA's office.  It was my mother, me and my brother. The DA started asking me about specific abuse.  I think I was in a state of shock. I had never said those words out-loud to my mother.  She asked and he forced you into oral sex, and started talking about number of times and I shrank ten sizes not believing she had said that with them in the room. I answered and the DA  kept asking questions, going over my statement.  Talking about all the ways I was violated,   Once again there was nothing, I was alone in my sadness. That DA said out-loud the exact words and nothing nothing for this heart.  I was more alone in that room than a person can imagine. 

When I was going through the court system, after my own case trying to keep Angela safe there was no support, I can remember getting back from Boston for the first time.  We were standing there in Baggage claim. My head was spinning about keeping Angela safe,  I didn't get to testify, her case was rescheduled.  There was so much and she hugged me, but there was nothing.  I was standing there in my own world, she couldn't understand where I had been or what I was going through.

I can think about times when the kids were little and I would put something where it always was and she would come through and change it, I always felt like she was trying to prove that she was better, she knew better .  It's hard to put into words.  I have never felt like she was there wanting me to accomplish great things,  wanting me to succeed and have a great life, that was something I never felt from her ever.

That competition has never stopped, even today with my own Son she has to give him what he wants be the favorite. She will stick up for him regardless of the situation or whose heart is getting broken. She has to compete with me, she is the friend and makes me the bad guy all the time.  She is the keeper of secrets and I don't know how to stop that.

I want so much to understand, and I am not sure that I can. I want to be open tell her how I am but almost 45 years of that kind of not listening, that competition, that not being important  and it just doesn't work for me. My heart is fragile and not ready to be opened up to anything else. I want my heart to be cared for and I am not sure she can.  So unlovable yes. I do believe that is it.  Not sure I have felt that from her.  I don't know.  Maybe every now and then but mostly like I was in a race that I knew wasn't possible to win.   

I heart your heart 

Tuesdays were my favorite days

Tuesday was the day. It was the day I had a time and place that was mine. I always looked forward to feeling like I mattered, to getting a hug that for even a few seconds made me feel not so broken.  I looked forward to that Monday night reminder email, that someone chose to stay just for me.  In this place my feelings were heard, my heart was cared for and my soul didn't have to fight to be heard because it just was. Tuesdays were hard, but for that time I didn't feel so alone. I didn't feel like a burden. For all these reasons Tuesday was my day, my most favorite day.

I kept going day after day knowing Tuesday was coming, because that was my day.  In the beginning it wasn't really mine until one day just like that he said, so lets make this your day and time, and he smiled and said how would you like that. My heart smiled, I finally had a place. He Lifted his glasses and put it on his calendar.  And so it became my space, just for me to heal this hurt heart of mine.

So Last night right on schedule, I got my email, my appointment reminder and the tears began to stream down my face.  that reminder always made my heart smile. Because Tuesday was a day when I could just be. That email was a reminder of so many things that don't have words, and all the things a person like me desperately needs.

I do miss my Tuesday place, more than anyone can imagine.  I know this is just a season and I still have that place. I know this is a time to shelter in place; a time to be safe. I know in my head, that place is still there and one day soon I will have my Tuesday again.  Where little Callahan is safe and heard and yes so safe. Someday soon, I just want my Tuesday back.

I heart your heart

Trauma Time Stamp

I think this is more important than I have ever imagined. There was a time when people told me to get over it to put it away and I beat myself up for not being able to do that.  I know just how long ago that it was; I know just how many years have passed yet there are parts of my heart that are still so affected and so sad.  I am coming to a place where I am tired of others placing that trauma time stamp on my life and the things that I have been through. Should I be over them maybe but they should have never happened in the first place. Absolutely, I am more than angry.  Should I have been cared for and loved along the way making healing easier; YES.  When those  things don't happen it takes longer even lifetimes and I fight that every single day.  It's those people that make you feel terrible for still being so hurt that do the most damage. The comments like well "unless anything else has happened to you" implying that you should be over the violence in your past.  That surely something else happened to still be so affected ??? The comments like it sucks to be you. The panic and dread when you are called for Jury duty.  I am coming to learn new things all the time and some are great and some are rough.

I am learning the "done" that I once hoped for, is something that is not likely, or even possible.  I am learning that there are just going to be some people that can not handle the life that is mine.  There are going to be some people,  that no matter how much I want them to understand and be present for me they just can't. I am learning that I need to hold on to those that make me feel good and important.  I am learning to stand on my own, feeling things as they come.  I am learning to accept that there are going to be things that are always going to be a part of who I am. There are going to be moments that bring me right back, and just being able to feel them and move past them will only do my heart good. 

I am so tired of other people and their trauma's being ok because they are more socially acceptable.  I am so sad that people choose not to acknowledge things outside of their comfort zone, which in turn makes things more difficult for me .  I am tired of people whose words do not match their actions.  I think at this point I am done with trying to fit in somewhere and just focusing on being the person that I am.  I am crazy Callahan lover of whales. I believe that kindness changes everything, and I also have a trauma stamp that will never go away.  I believe that there are good people in the world and I am lucky to have a few of them in my life.  I think I am finally coming to a place where I don't care what others think.  I will not pretend to be things that I am not, I will not be what other people want me to be. I have survived so much and that doesn't go away because it makes you more comfortable. Because all that's happened is a part of me. Those things are in my bones, my heart, my spirit and I won't shut up to make you comfortable. I will keep healing and keep speaking to heal to help to move forward in this life that is mine. I think in short it I am too much, if my honesty bothers you stay away.  Things have happened I will always be affected, I will have bad days. But I also have great days.  I have a trauma stamp, I do and mine is just as ok as yours.

I heart your heart.

I'm so sorry but I have to help her

This is one of those things that has broken and split my heart. I have thought about those little tad-poles more than I have ever thought about myself. I was so happy and content playing in that little creek.  It seemed very steep and I am not sure how we got there. There were others that were playing near me, but I can't for the life of me tell you who they were.  I was in my own little world, where all was well.  I always had this ability to find those little things that made me happy, and that became all that mattered.  This was one of those days.  I sit here writing and can close my eyes and see it all, my little feet in the water, the creek totally covered by the shade of the huge trees along the bank.  I am pretty sure my hair was in pig tails, this is one of the few times I remember wearing shorts.   For that short time all was great playing with my tadpoles in that little creek, I am sure I was deep in conversation with them, placing them gently in that bucket,  because that is just what I did. 

 I am not sure how Albert called me out of the creek, I remember putting my bucket down by the picnic table where Barbra Albert's mother was sitting.  He was holding my hand and we were walking away.  I was scared, I see it so clear and there was a fear I didn't know where we were going. The Red van was parked in a group of trees.  Unbelievable the things that get burned into a little girls brain, my brain as things were happening.  I can remember walking towards the van him holding my hand, my mind still with my tadpoles.  I don't think I had a clue what was about to happen to me.  The back doors of the van were open,  and I could see the bean bags, he picked me up tossing me on them. He was not kind, he was rough, and mean.  I remember the evil look on his face.  After all this time almost 40 years later, I remember that look.  He pulled my shorts and underwear off and he climbed into the back of the van, and that is the point that little Callahan comes in. I can remember being there, but not being there.  I remember looking out the little side windows thinking why is this happening on such a beautiful day.  I remember the greenness of the trees and the blueness of the skies.  I can still see the sun shining through the branches,  as he did what he wanted, as he raped my little body.  And my only thought that I remember was, why is he doing this on such a beautiful day, like it would not have mattered on a different day.  He was so angry with me, and I didn't understand why.  He was so rough, really hurting me. 

I remember him being done and he pulled up his pants,  I can even remember him buttoning his pants and he told me to get dressed and go play.  Everything was in slow motion, this time was different and the pain my little body was in was unimaginable.  Of coarse I always did what I was told.  I found my clothes and got dressed.  I can remember being dizzy and struggling to stand up.  My little legs were so shaky, I feel that, I remember how I was so hurt.  I was alone and knew that there was no one to make me feel better. I just knew that I wanted to get back to my tadpoles.  Just focus on something else and try to forget the pain. 

I remember the exact second that I was finally dressed again standing there behind the van.  My legs barely holding me up and I saw Albert and his mother sitting at the picnic table.  I remember seeing my bucket and thinking I just have to get back over there so I can get to my tadpoles.  My hips hurt so much,  I felt like he was still hurting me.  But I had to get those tad poles, they were my only focus, my only motivation to move. And time stood still and a part of me stayed right there by the van unable to move lost in a little body that was in unimaginable pain and was suffering more than I can even imagine, because my only thought was my tadpoles. Those little black tadpoles were all that mattered. 

I made it to my tadpoles,  the tears drying on my face.  I held on to stone seat and Albert came over knocking my little bucket over.  He knelled down telling me that next time I wouldn't fight so much and he began to step on my little tadpoles with his big black boots..  Again the tears began to  flow,  I just had to save them I just had to put them back in my bucket so that they could make it back to the creek.  I tried so hard, but my little fingers couldn't pick them up fast enough.  My only feeling was anger at myself for biting my nails and not being able to pick them up fast enough.  And that has haunted me for years and years and years.  I could not save those tadpoles, under his big black boots. I have been relentless blaming myself that I couldn't save them, I couldn't pick them up.

Those tadpoles have always been my focus. They were then and until now, that has been my focus.  But in my heart that little girl that was brutally raped is still standing there by the van, legs barely holding her up trying to find a way to put one foot in front of the other.  I left her there as I moved on to save the tadpoles and its about time that I move on to help her.   

There is no way that I could have done anything different to save them.  Bu there is a lot that I can do to help that sad hurt broken little girl today .  Its more than hard focusing on her because I think that I have always seen what happened to her as not really being that important. The important part was saving those tadpoles.  I vow and promise that from today on, I am going to help the little girl that was left behind. That little girl, little me, little Callahan that was forced in the back of a van raped and left. That is the little girl that needs me.  She matters and she should never have had to endure what she did that day on her own. She never should have stood there wondering how to put one foot in front of the other and pretend that her body and mind were fine. She was not fine. She was not ok. She was injured, she was hurting and she deserved someone to take care of her.  No 5 year old should ever have to know that pain and be left on their own. No little girl deserves or asks for those things to happen.  I can no longer focus on those helpless tadpoles.  I am grateful for them , my mind may have broken if it weren't for them.  But now is the time I have to help that little girl , I have to help heal that little girl who has blamed herself all these years. Who has focused on saving those innocent little creatures and today I finally must focus on saving that little girl still standing dizzy by the van, legs shaking wondering what in the world is coming next.  Well little one I am here and you are not alone.  I am coming to help you.  I am right here with you.

I heart your heart. 

You is smart, You is kind, You is Important

You is Smart, You is Kind, You is Important 

I can not for the life of me seem to watch this with out crying.  I wish that I had known this with every bone in my body as a little girl, but I did not.  I was not special; I was not important in any way.  I often struggle when people tell me these things today. Somehow I struggle to give them a place in my brain, my heart. I think that I would have done anything when I was little to just mean something to someone, just be important enough for someone to notice, to help , to do something, to save me from my hell.  There was a time when I knew that being important and special was not for me; that just wasn't an option. I was the gross and disgusting little girl who got excited picking out her dads shirt to wear. I was the outsider who saw everything in the world differently. Feeling loved and important was something for other girls other little girls that were all those things that I was not. Nothing I ever went through was enough,  nothing was ever an emergency, nothing really mattered for one reason or the other. Either I was the chubby unpopular kid that no one could imagine anyone wanting to assault, I mean who would want to rape me right ?!?  I was lying and just wanted attention.Oh that's totally me an attention whore.  I was even at times, just nothing,  I didn't matter, what happened to me didn't matter either, everyone just pretended that everything was fine. I learned rather quickly just smile and pretend that everything is fine.  It's terrible when things are not fine, and everyone around you pretends that it is.

 When I have felt like I mattered I don't have a clue what to do with it,  I am  often in a state of disbelief. I want to hear the words I want to believe it and take it on but the words that have been spoken, are so much of who I am.  I can hear those words still past and present in my head and I struggle with being important and loved.

I can say that I do feel loved and safe and taken care of at times, but it is not something that I am comfortable with, it makes me feel needy and desperate.  I often wonder if there will be any amount of kindness to fill that gaping hole that has been  created.  I was in my 20's before I had even one moment and felt like I was important that I meant something.  When Det. Plemmons asked how I was,  the world stopped,  me?  He was asking how I was ?  I didn't have a clue, all I knew was to be fine.  You just pretend that your heart isn't broken and keep moving forward. It's come to the point where I am tired of pretending.  I am just going to let this broken heart bleed,  and ooze and cry because maybe that is what its going to take to let the kindnesses that I have today sink in.  To feel important and worthy, yo just wake up knowing that. Someday, someday I will feel those words in my bones and my heart will be full. 

Innocence

This is a rough one. It's something that I don't really think about often.  When it does hit when I see something so real ,true and pure it hits me hard and I think there are just so many things that I will never get to experience.  This time it was the school dance.

It was one of those required things at work.  It was fine,  just that feeling of being an outsider begins to creep in and that feeling is somehow so hollow that your insides would echo.  Its that thing that should be there; that should have been built in as I was growing up,  but things happen and I didn't get those things like everyone else.  There are things that I knew way to soon, and things I experienced that should have  been saved for way later in life.  All those things together and innocence is gone, completely gone.  My innocence was gone before I even knew that it existed.

The first time I experienced that sense of innocence was in Carter's baby store when Mariska was small maybe 3.  A song came on that she liked. So she stood there in a crowded line full of people and she danced. She found herself a clearing by the shelf;  She danced like no one was watching. She danced because she knew that it was ok, she was safe and the world was at her hands. She danced because a song she loved came on and she felt it in her bones.  I stood there and watched unbelievably in amazement that she would do that.  I wanted to go and distract her and tell her all the reasons that she shouldn't do that. People might be watching what will the think will they be attracted to her.  A thousand things are running in my head and for a second Everything stopped; I realized just how innocent that moment was.  And I just watched her, there was nothing wrong with what she was doing,  there was nothing wrong with enjoying that exact moment .  She stood there with not a care in the world and  danced.  The world was a safe and sound place.  There was no harm intended on her and not one person thought anything terrible seeing a little girl dance.  I teared up a little because I just could never imagine being that ok with who I was.  I could not imagine not being afraid of the people around me and if they saw me do that, I knew the things that they would want.  Such a powerful moment being able to give her the things that I never had.  I know she had those moments all the time.  This one just so stood out to me,  she was just a little girl in this world dancing to her favorite song.  It was amazing and heartbreaking for me.  I would never know that feeling that truly free feeling . 



Then again at the school dance,I experienced that innocence in another little girl dancing and I hate that there is that moment that comes that breaks my heart.  That little one has something that I never had. I have come such a long way since that day in Carter's. Mariska is almost 16 and she lives in that innocence.  There are moments she still knows that innocence and I want her to keep that as long as she can.  She is well aware of the world but those times I see it I hold my heart and think  she has that because of all the ways that I kept her safe.  But once again at the school dance,  I was just standing on the outside  ; that outsider that can't experience things like others.  The dance was half way through,  and there was a little girl her hair all curled and she had on this black and white dress with lots of fringe and she was dancing away, watching her fringe sway and swing with not a care in the world.  She was the only one in the world and she danced.  Oh she danced.  I just watched and smiled .  All those same feelings came back, another moment that I will never experience.  I am more than happy to see it in others.  I am more than happy that my children have that . There is also a sadness that I don't understand what its like to be so free.   I don't understand that moment when you just do something because it feels good, because it makes you happy.  I get frustrated because I know how far that I have come, but moments like that still sting like nothing else.

It just does something to my heart.  I can remember one picture in front of my house on Rearn Dr and I have this Blue jumper on, I am holding my little stuffed dog and I seem to almost be floating on air and I think in someway I had that if even for a moment. I see innocence in that picture of me. Still It makes me more than sad.  Its such a sad thing because these girls at the dance, my own little Mariska have no clue what its like not to have that.  For that I am forever grateful.  For me, it breaks my heart that so much was taken and that I couldn't dance because that is just what little girls do.

I never just got to do what other little girls did.  Their lives were so foreign, so far away.  That pure joy, pure freedom was something that was taken away;just as my innocence long before I could understand the depth and sadness of that.  I want someday to be able to regain even a little of that innocent enjoy the moment thing that is just out of my reach.  Surely if I am at least able to see it, maybe someday I can have my own little piece of understanding. Just a little sliver of Innocence ;what its like to have it in your hand; and have the world at your fingertips.

I heart your heart.

Celebrations

Survivors  don't get to celebrate our losses and our wins.  We don't get to share just how far that we have come in life.  I don't feel that as a survivor I get to celebrate living through the hell that I have.  I don't have a day when people come and say wow look at you, "What an amazing Survivor You Are."  I am not saying that is what I want.  But I am saying that I want and even need an acknowledgement of the things that my heart has lived through.  There are so many days for so many different reasons.  People get to celebrate their stories. Cancer survivors get to celebrate when they are cancer free years later. A women gets to celebrate each year that she is still sober.  People get to celebrate milestones after a death , people celebrate their rainbow babies.  All these things are wonderful. All of these things are worth celebrating, they are worth being acknowledged. 

When it comes to sexual assault. When it comes to being raped as a child as a woman there is not a celebration about all that we have overcome.  I feel like there is a double standard. We are expected to survive in mostly silence, and just go back to something that we were before. No one wants to talk about it, no one wants to hear how your affected. The problem is there is not a before because we can't unexperience those things,  we have to adjust to a new normal a new way of life completely.  Many of us are just trying to gain a new sense of ourselves and who we are.  Sexual Assault  survivors are not remembered not celebrated and not often seen as important enough to be noticed later years later or even weeks later.  We are just expected to get over it, and move on. 

For me I hate Valentines day.  I hate the roses, I hate the big deal that is made because for me I was raped the night of the School Valentine Dance.  He had the nerve to bring red roses to the door like this was something I wanted.  I did not. I did not want any moment of what happened that night.  So as every year this day is displayed as a time filled with love and friends but for me there is only dread, memories, and pretending that everything is OK.  My day will not be noticed, or acknowledged in any way.  There is a part of me that feels so very guilty.  I know this is a good day for some and I don't want to ruin anyone's special day. I just want that gentle are you OK, thinking about you. I want that I am glad your here and your special. 

I know its more than crazy but someday I want beautiful flowers   and someone asking how I am.  I want to be able to make different beautiful memories that I haven't even dreamed of yet.Someone to hold me and let me cry then do something to make my heart feel safe and so worth it.  I want someone to care enough to hear my heart on this day to hold me and tell me just how far that I have come.  Some valentines are worse than others and there will come a day I hope when this day won't be a reminder of all the hurt.  

I think in sharing this I just want it to be OK to have my bad days. I want there to be a celebration as a survivor that I am further than I was at this same time last year.  Every celebration and journey is an important one and mine may be so very hard to talk about it; that I understand.  But if we can celebrate other hard things this is just as important.  As others are allowed to say wow its been 15 years and look at me now cancer free.  As others can stand up and say 25 years sober.  I want to be able to say I was raped years, months or days ago  and look how strong that I am.  

I want there to come a time, when we can stand in our pain and it be OK for that moment , and for it to be acknowledged then laugh and be who we are with no shame of the things we have survived. I want to cry be sad that those terrible things happened then be so glad that I made it, that I am living my best life despite all the things that have happened.  I want to share just like everyone else and I am not sure that the world is ready for that. Someday, Someday I hope the world will be ready.   Because I am closer to being ready than I have ever been. 

I heart your heart.