I Never Cried; I Shoved, But Tears Still Found Their Way Out

Emotions are an interesting animal. I never cried when I was being sexually abused by my stepfather - I shoved it down and pretended it never happened. I never cried when he finally was pulled from my home after people found out he had been abusing me from the time I was 4 until the fall after my 16th birthday. The shame and huge amount of guilt I felt that I broke up my family was devastating, but I shoved it down. I didn't cry when I was placed into another home for a year until my mom could get on her feet to take care of me - I shoved it down. I didn't cry when people found out about the secret, I was more embarrassed that people would view me quite differently than they had before - I shoved those emotions down too. And I didn't even cry tears of joy when the abuse finally stopped. That part was shut off. I didn't allow myself to feel out of control. I controlled my emotions and was an expert at shoving my feelings down - obviously.  I learned over the years, no matter how much you shove your tears down, eventually, your tears still find a way out.

A perfect example is my bunny story: My teenage years I had a rabbitry of about 25 or so bunnies. They were my solace and I would talk to them about anything that was on my mind. They were my friends growing up. The ones that would not judge me no matter what was told to them. I felt safe to tell them my painful secret about being sexually abused.  

Out of all my beloved bunnies, I had a favorite bunny – he was special. His name was Bun-Bun. He was a 20lb giant gray lop. He was quite marvelous. I took him to my high school and would do improve and humorous interp pieces with him in my speech class. He even did tricks for my audience (with a little prodding).

I will never forget one particular fall day. I came home to my brother cooking something on the stove. My mom worked late and it was up to us sometimes to cook for ourselves. He asked me to try what he was cooking. He seemed off and told me that it tasted like chicken but wasn’t chicken. I tried it and he started laughing. I had no idea why. But then he told me I just ate my own bunny. I could hardly process what I was hearing and was in shock. I ran out of the house to the rabbitry searching for Bun-Bun in his cage. He was gone… I ran into the barn and on one of the hutches lay his head. I was horrified and hurt. I lost it. For the first time after my stepfather had been removed out of my home, and all the pain and the hurt he caused me, I finally broke and I wept. I sat in the barn and wept. I couldn't hold it in any longer and the tears finally found their way out.

The very next day, I let all my bunnies go – every single one of them. I felt they had a better chance out in the fields of our farm than living in a cage while my brother was still around. It was hard to do, they had been my friends, but I wanted them to survive – ALL of them. It was their chance to be free, much like I wish I could have been free of my trauma many years before, they were now free to be what God intended them to be – free, wild bunnies.
Months later, farmers started complaining – there was an uproar in town. There was in fact a bunny outbreak and they were everywhere and the farmers were pissed. But me, I was happy. I had the biggest smile on my face and such huge satisfaction that MY bunnies were living, thriving and taking over the town. It took many years to control the bunnies. I moved away years later. Where there once was farms, beautiful new houses stand, but bunnies are still seen I’m told from time to time and I can’t help but know that many of them are the lineage of the ones I freed.

Just yesterday, I received a text from my daughter. She works for a housing developer. She texted that she overheard some Realtors talking about a recent development that had displaced some of the bunnies in the town I once lived. There are STILL bunnies. 26 years later, the bunnies are still topic of conversation - man does this make me smile!

It took me 25 years to finally be ok with it all. Chris (my hubby) thought it was time for healing in that department as I’d made huge strides everywhere else in my life. In Spring, a little over a year ago, he said he had a surprise for me and we got into the car and drove. He wouldn’t say much but that it was something I needed. We drove up to a house and a man was waiting for us. He said “follow me, their back here.” We walked in the back yard and there they were. A bunch of cages with bunnies of all sizes. The hutch he took me too had baby gray lops that he said would be big (they looked big already), but that I could choose any one of them. I was hesitant, my stomach was tight, but I overcame the anxiety and picked the one up that I had my eye on. He nuzzled into my neck and it was all over. I took him home and he is all mine. He is safe and happy. I call him Benny Bunny. He is precious and so healing for me. I still struggle with bunny trauma from time to time. But Benny is patient.

I’ve had a few kids from my organization (Sparks of Hope) over (with their adoptive parent) to cuddle with him. I call it “Bunny therapy.” There is no clinical proof of bunny therapy but the little ones think it's real as do I. I think any animal that gives you joy and comfort is therapy. These two little kids in particular were horribly abused and they saw their oldest sister killed in front of their eyes. I’m not sure what it is about a precious bunny, but the time we spend with him is so healing for them and me.

I was motivated to tell my bunny story because a friend recently made an empowering bunny necklace for me, and my daughter reminded me in a text of those amazing bunnies from my hometown. I’ve told a limited amount of people my bunny story. I feel my abuse story is tragic enough, why add insult to injury? I think it’s too much for people sometimes, but my childhood was too much so I give people little bits and pieces about my life - a little at a time to digest.

The photo is of me and Benny on our first day together - I was taking him home.

Changed

I am forever changed by the courageous kids we helped over the last two weeks.  Tears were streaming down my face while I was leaving camp yesterday afternoon.  What’s it going to be like to go back to “real life”?  Camp life is so much different.  It’s the safest place I have ever been - you can be you, free to share your innermost thoughts where there is judgment.  I felt sick to my stomach as thoughts raced through my head … did I in fact make a difference in my little buddy’s life this week?  Did she really know how beautiful she was. Will she ever see the beauty in herself that everyone else sees?  Did she know how wonderful she is and that she can do anything she puts her mind to? 

I struggled more than anyone knew.  This time was different. I’m a leader, a director and a founder.  I should be solid, right?  I should have this down.  I teach this stuff … But, If I’m being honest, I didn’t feel at all confident.  I was vulnerable and raw.  I wouldn’t allow myself a break.  I had to keep working hard so she’d see - see she was worthy of being happy, worthy of loving herself and letting people into that sacred place that was holding the real her.  I wanted her to stop hating herself for having to put him in prison.  It wasn't her fault. None if it was and it’s not fair that she has to bear that burden.  No child should. 

The rawest part for me was that I saw my child self in her. I hadn’t faced that before.  I was cheering for her to believe - to just believe in herself, stop listening to the lies and not give up so easily.  That she really CAN do what ever she puts her mind to.  I saw the inner conflict in her eyes on the High Ropes Challenge Course this week.  She was terrified and didn’t believe in herself.  I saw it on her face - she was buying into those ugly lies survivors tell themselves.  She wanted to do this, but also wanted to quit at every turn.  I wouldn’t allow her to go there in her head.   I had to help her believe she had this, and could do it.  I pushed my limits showing her this.  I must have showed her each transition 3 times to make her see she was safe, would be ok and she could do this task - I was physically exhausted by the end and emotionally spent.  It was the most beautiful and exhausting experience.  We both were quiet and a little withdrawn after that challenge was completed.  It seemed to me she was in shock she actually finished it and wasn’t allowing herself the joy of her accomplishment until quite a while later.  I was so proud of her though - more than I think she knew. 

When I finally returned home I had to see what she (my little buddy) wrote.  It was on my mind the entire time.  I took off my signed camp shirt and started scanning it for the most important signature … her signature … there it was … and I was in tears all over again.  She was “going to miss me” with not just 1 but 3 exclamation marks!!!  All is well in my world today.  I am being missed by my hero and the most amazing and brave little girl I’ve ever met.

This work is difficult and it takes special people that are willing to be present on the battlefield with these kids; to roll up their sleeves and do this very challenging work - an incredible soul with a heart to do the tough stuff.  And when I say "challenging" and "tough" it means willing to bear witness to great pain and joy.  To have your heart ripped open, exposed and raw and just be there to help heal these kids.  I am so proud of our warriors/volunteers (I now call my dear friends) who were so willing to offer help and healing - so very proud indeed.

Healing Camp is Triage

"The wound is the place where light enters you. ~ Rumi"
Camp is triage.  These volunteers are tending to children on a battlefield they never asked to be on, trying desperately to keep their trust, and their hope, and their sense of self worth from bleeding out from the wounds that have been inflicted upon them.”  By Perry P. Perkins

I've never heard it described so beautifully about what we do at our healing camps.  My friend Perry, was at boys camp for a few days last week teaching young boys how to cook - give them a life skill they could take home with them and be proud of.

I do feel it's so much more than triage, but when you are coming into this battlefield for the first time, it is pretty devastating when it really and truly sinks in - we call it the “aha” moment and for the first time you “get” the gravity of what we do for hurting kids at healing camp ...