October 11th 2009 A beautiful Sunday

I have been home now 4 days. The dust is settling and reality is sinking in. There are many of you who probably have wondered why, why would I take 22 days out of my life to go out across the United States and tell our story? On this journey I ended up teaching an incredibly important history lesson; one that revolved around two totally different individuals, from completely opposite backgrounds, who came together in their youth only to realize years later that violence and abuse had been the noose which almost destroyed their lives.

When I walk into a room, whether it be filled with women at a DV Shelter or young men in a Juvenile Hall, I set before them an oval erase board with a black handle, a black dry erase pen and an eraser. First I want to know how much we all have in common, so I ask everyone to raise their hand if the question I ask pertains to them. Here are a few of the questions that I ask;

Who here comes from a broken family?
(I raise my hand)
Who here has been the victim of child abuse?
(I raise my hand)
Who has witnessed domestic violence as a child or an adult?
(I raise my hand)
Who here has or has had problems with alcoholism or drug addiction?
(I raise my hand)
Who here has been raped?
(I raise my hand)
Who here has been incarcerated?
(I raise my hand)
Who here has lost a loved one to domestic violence?
(I raise my hand)

The questions go on until a point where it becomes obvious we all have lot in common. I tell people that I am traveling across the country creating awareness surrounding the skyrocketing plight of the domestic violence epidemic. My goal is to help them realize that they have the ability to change the course of their history, but in order to do that they must first understand it. They must dig deeper and deeper to witness their parents history, and their grandparents history, because with this knowledge an objectivity can be established and change can begin to blossom.

I explain that because I want to protect their anonymity I would like everyone, as I am talking and feelings build inside them, to write or draw what they are experiencing on the white boards, and then hold them up to their faces so that I can photograph their image.
I was amazed to watch people suddenly drop their guard about 10 minutes into my talk and do just that, at which point you couldn't stop them from creating. There were times I would hurry over to photograph what they had just written, and I would have to turn away because the words would cut through me so deeply I felt it necessary to hide my tears. Finally thought I reached the point where I didn't hide how I was feeling anymore, and I wanted them to see that that their words and images had moved me in a profound way.

I begin to tell my story: my adoption by two people who should never have had children. I talk about their divorce, their violence, their addictions. I talk about the abuse that I sustained as a child, my inability to sleep and my first dance with alcohol, and later how I buried myself in my addiction. I talk about being drugged by my father and I talk about his inappropriate sexual behavior towards me. I talk about the years of lost childhood my mind will not allow me to remember. I talk about always searching for love from men who were incapable of giving it to me.

Then it is time to talk about how I met Bill and what circumstances led us to our fated encounters, from our first date to our wedding, and the first time he hit me and sent me across the room.

And then I stop, because his story must be told in order for this history lesson to come full circle and be understood. I talk about the abuse Bill sustained as a little boy, the beatings, the humiliation, the complete and total lack of control, the pain, and the refuge he sought through drugs and alcohol at the tender age of 12.

Then I fast forward again to our marriage with the account of the weekend from hell, 48 hours of non stop mental and physical abuse. I talk about the Sunday morning when I awoke (after finally getting some sleep from the nightmare that had started on Friday night) to Bill swinging his twelve string guitar against the walls, bashing it to pieces and coming after me with it. I jumped from our bed ( he had slept upstairs that night) and I ran to the upstairs bathroom, trying desperately, but to no avail, to lock myself in. He pushed the door open and proceeded to beat me for the next 45 minutes.

I remember something inside of me simply wanting to survive and then it happened, a moment of grace.

I got up off the floor and stood in front of the vanity, and there in the mirror's reflection were Bill and I. Quietly I explained that I thought my jaw was broken and that I needed to go to the hospital. I promised that I would come right back home. At that moment, I watched in the mirror as the horrible monster that couldn't stop bashing me, who wanted me to pay for something that I hadn't done, suddenly disappeared leaving behind a terrified young man shocked at the carnage before him.

It was then, (although I would not realize it until years later) that Bill had been given a reprieve from his anger and rage. Later I was able to look back and realize that it hadn't been about me, I had just been an available and willing victim. In reality, it was the culmination of two histories that had come together creating what I sadly call "The Perfect Storm."

What the audience does not know, up until this moment, is that Bill and I are best friends today.

Our marriage was annulled in 1978 but after years of pain and addiction, other marriages, deaths and tragedy, we both got clean and sober. We both have worked on understanding our shortcomings and character defects. Through sobriety and therapy we have taken the necessary steps to understand our histories, as far back as possible, which has enabled us to become healthy, happy productive members of society. We love each other today. Amends have been made, deep wounds have healed and scars no longer are there to remind us of the pain of our past.

We are both parents, six children among us. We are also grandparents, and it is our deepest wish and desire that our children and their children continue to be healthy, loving compassionate human beings.

I also talk a lot about my two youngest children, who are now 20 and 25. I adopted both of them as a single parent. They are from separate biological families, but both sustained brain damage at the hands of their parents or mother's significant other. They were 6 and 2 when I adopted them, (their adoptions were roughly two years apart.) They will live with me the rest of our lives. I have been blessed with two of the greatest teachers on this planet. Sadly what happend to them happens probably about every hour to other children across the United States.

A huge eye opener for me happened on the first day of the tour in Red Bluff California at the Tehama County Juvenile Hall. (watch the You Tube Video, pretty much says it all) I spoke to a dozen young men and one young woman. When I got done I got in my car and proceeded to audio tape how I was feeling. What I came away with was that we, the women of the world, gave birth to these boys. And we are supposed to be like mother lions, protecting them, feeding them and most of all loving them. We have failed them; we have fallen into the vicious cycle of abuse that has been breeding and escalating for probably thousands of years. We have given birth and only looked inward, caring only about what make us happy, how the rest of the world has pissed in our Wheaties, instead of learning how to focus our attention towards becoming kind, caring and loving mothers to our children.

I heard story after story in the Juvenile Halls about the absence of a father in the home, and mothers who were completely consumed by their drug addiction and alcoholism. When a child comes home from school and there is no food, no electricity and no clothing, it's no wonder they turn to gangs to provide the emotional and materialistic needs sorely lacking in the home.

We have fallen prey to drugs and alcohol, using are children as an excuse and a means for financial gain. We, as the fallen fraction of society, have completely lost sight of the meaning of compassion and truth and what the true definition of a parent is.

When I am speaking to women in shelters and young mothers, I reiterate that having a baby doesn't mean you are never going to be alone again or that you will have a best friend for life. It doesn't mean that your child is there to parent you. On the contrary, there will be many times you will feel and be completely alone even with your child standing right by your side. But if we want to bring children into this world, we need to comprehend and acknowledge our history, and be willing to go the distant to change it's course in order for our children to lead healthy, non-violent and compassionate lives.

This tour was entitled "Women in Crisis, Compassion and Change through Conversation." There were many times before we ever left that I thought maybe we should change it to "Women and Men, Society in Crisis", but after traveling 22 days, I am sticking with the original because deep within my heart and psyche I know that it is the Feminine that must help heal this earth. It is the women who must re-open their hearts and seek ways to help others to understand the history of violence and shame. It is the female that must rise up and awaken the consciousness of all around her. In turn, men will find the courage to learn, to heal and to change the course of their history as well. To embrace and trust the feminine within themselves.