Dear Soapbox Therapy Readers,

I’m proud and excited to introduce a new Soapbox Therapy feature, Soapbox Shares.

Starting today, one time per month, Soapbox Shares will feature an anonymous story, poem, letter, etc. written in from a reader. Not only am I passionate about speaking my mind, but I’m passionate about hearing what’s on yours…this is my opportunity to shift over, and share my soapbox…Love it.

Shouting your story from the rooftops (aka, on Soapbox Shares) will give you the opportunity to not only express yourself and share your thoughts, but will gift you the permission and the venue to practice asking others to see you for who you really are, and hear you for what your really saying. Love it even more.

This new monthly feature was inspired after the following author, speaker, and amazing beautiful gorgeous human being sent this piece to me. I joyfully share my soapbox with her and hope her intense bravery to bare her story inspires you as well.

The thing about expressing your story, your feelings, your pain, your journey is that it’s validating, healing, freeing and and and. I suggest trying it sometime…

Without further ado, I present Soapbox Shares:
……..

“I first started writing this piece during my senior year in high school while in therapy with Brooke. During my work with her, I began to talk about, for the first time, some major traumatic events I had endured as a young child. I’m now a college freshman, and I have proudly finished this piece.

But being able to share it this way and proclaiming it in a specific community like my circle of friends, organization and campus allows me to walk around without such a heavy burden that was weighing me down.”

NO
A simple word that is supposed to have power
Power to let someone know when I feel uncomfortable
Or when I feel something is wrong
Powerful enough to have them back off
Power to voice my feelings

But this word was useless for the eight year old girl who used it to scream for help
A quick shriek…Nnnn instantly stopped by his hands hovering over her mouth
A sharp kitchen blade forced at the edge of her neck
Complete silence surrounds her except for her scream of fear thundering in her head

The only living soul was the coward with his hand over her mouth and a knife forced onto her neck
This man with manipulative eyes, daunting at the little girl
Helpless to his fully masculine body, A man strong enough to toy with the girl’s fear and make her feel like death was upon her
This girl was beyond afraid, beyond distraught

This girl was me

At 8 years old and no one to call for help I told myself to never use the word no again
As I refused to feel like that again
Powerless, pathetic and useless
Controlled by a man who held my life in his hands…saying things that were slowly killing me

U are so pretty, too pretty he said
With his hands crawling down my face, trickling with tears of fear
The lower his despicable hands went, the more I felt that I was losing touch with my body, going into non-existence
You see…It’s true when they say that the person most likely to hurt you is the person close to you

He was close to me because he was my uncle
He was close to me because he baby sat me when my parents were at work
He was close enough to smell my fear
My hands shivering, lips quivering

Begging and crying on my knees that Mommy doesn’t go to work, faking a cold and a fever so that she would stay back, cuz I didn’t wanna have to stay with this devil incarnate

Yet still smart enough to know that he could take advantage of me and know that there weren’t any powerful words that I could use against him
And as he got closer and closer to me
The more the word NO and myself were dying

Throughout the year that he lived with me… He came in and did as he pleased. HIS pursuit of happiness…making me do horrifying things that dares to drive me crazy
Forcing in his male ego with the words coward, manipulative bitch, over-powering fucker tainted through my innocence and naivety

Quenching and tying my legs in a knot to keep him OUT, but he always found his way in…FORCED and VIOLATING what was left of my childhood
Trying to bury it in my past, it found its way out
Haunting my dreams, instilled with fear and pain beyond any physical suffering

It was no difference to be killed than to have a man from my family force himself into me
I pronounced the death of my existence after those memories
I sit there, defenseless on my behalf, hearing my family praise that fucker for being such a good babysitter and person at heart

To this day he is still known as that great man
Cuz he’s hidden in my secrecy
And this puts me back in a place of shame and fear…
Still with the word NO as powerless as myself

Too scared to voice the truth, that he’s not this great man they believe him to be
At the age 15 I was told that my aunt divorced him and I thought I wouldn’t see him again, a sign of relief

It wasn’t long till he showed his face again
Having a nice cold beer with my uncle one day
I didn’t know he was around until I walked downstairs from my room and saw him looking at me
And at that second… I wished that I were dead because memories flushed back into my mind

Things I tried to force myself to forget haunted my dreams and consciousness
I ran right back into my room doors locked under the bed hoping to dear god that he wouldn’t follow me
I was still powerless against him and I had just let him know that once again

So I stand here… With no words to say to my family, still a secret… full of fear and pain because he was just the first one
Just as manipulative, big boned and strong as the first
My cousin was crazy in the mind

Though I was even crazier, only 10 years old when I thought that I could tell him that a man had raped me
The most naïve move I could ever make

I might as well have told him that I was a vulnerable weak powerless little girl and that it was safe for him to rape me too
A degrading memory of his countless neglects to my tainted body
He was caught by his older brother who told my aunt

I thought that I was safe when he was caught and adults in my family finally knew what he was doing to me
It killed my sense of trust to have my ass beat right along with my cousin for being a stupid little girl

Let me say that one more time…. Little girl

My aunt allowed herself to believe that I was supposed to have the brains and the strength to fight off both rapists at the age of 8 and 10…
Now that I call pathetic ,intolerable and hopeless

And as every whip from that belt touched my skin she said that I was stupid, it was all my fault, that I liked it and that I was to blame
You know, I actually believed her
And as the whips kept coming I felt powerless and helpless after every whip

How dare she say that I liked it.. Now I believe that at a young age my mind was not prepared for such trauma and life-threatening ultimatums and it wasn’t my fault that I had fucked up people in my family
Coming from a childhood that neglected my body and spirit I realized that I continued to neglect my own body and self

Giving no attention and care to myself
A secret shielded for 11 years amongst other secrets
I was raped at 8 years old by my uncle everyday he babysat me
I was raped again by my cousin at 10 years old and molested constantly when no one was looking, I had to grow up with him and not say a word

I am 19 and can’t sleep sometimes because I am haunted by flashbacks that keep me up in fear

I pronounce my surrender to this battle cuz I can no longer hold this secret alone

……..
To be featured on Soapbox Shares please click here and write your poem, story, or letter in the question box. Everything is anonymous. Remember that sending your story in is considered official consent to post it on Soapbox Therapy. Thank you, and I look forward to supporting your story to be heard.

Love,

Dear Brooke,

–Formerly thin

Dear Formerly Thin,

You’re right darlin, I cannot answer every question that comes in, but yours has an insanely important message that I’m just not willing to let slide…so, let’s get right to it.

First and foremost, let me say this regarding the comment your husband made: I can’t tell you to or not to go get a divorce, so I’m not going to. What your husband said, who he said it in front of, and how he said it all sounds deeply hurtful…I officially grant you the permission to be upset. And…

And I don’t know anything beyond this particular story about your relationship and its 30 plus years, but I do hope that you’re able to communicate the hurt you felt to your husband. Let him know how his comment made you feel, and that it actually made you question his love for you. This is big huge stuff.

But before you do any of that…let’s shift from what he said, to what you said.

Even though you rounded out your question by asking me what to do about your husband, everything that came before that, in some form or another, was an explanation, justification, excuse, disclaimer, rationalization…about your body and its current shape or weight. You pretty much covered all of your bases my darling. You talked about why your body is the way it is because of something physical, chemical, emotional, physiological, medical, and genetic, and that’s telling me that not only are you not happy with how you are, but so much more…

So if I’m really-like really really-doing my job, I’m going to scoop away all the details (what he said-what she said-what your mother did or didn’t do) and send as much love to you as possible while I explain some things that may be really hard to hear…but extremely important. Here I go.

As I was reading the first few paragraphs of your question when you were describing your changing habits over the past 10 years, your experiencing menopause, things you don’t like to do or eat, and things you don’t want to fully blame, an image came to my mind. That image was of you wearing armor; big thick iron metal heavy armor. Each example and justification and routine you can’t give up is representing a piece; one piece here and one piece there, covering your arms and legs and torso and head…until you’re fully enclosed.

Armor is supposed to keep us safe, its supposed to work- and so far for you, it has. It’s helped keep you safe because when you have smoking and menopause and medication and heredity and eating habits and disinterest in sweating and the way your mom fed you all helping to make sure you to never have to talk about whats really going on…well, that’s a lot of layers of protection.

Your story, your reasons, your justifications for why you are how you look the way you do have kept you protected from having to look in the mirror (metaphoric and literal) to not only see, but truly look at the woman you are today.

You’ve entered a new chapter of life gorgeous, shifts have occurred and changes made and my love, you’re doing an amazing fabulous spectacular job of keeping yourself safe from having to face those changes head on. But the issue is, your armor is no longer working. And here’s how I know…

When your friends questioned you and your husband put you down, your armor was pierced. And you reacted how anyone would: You were wounded, so you want to fight back. You want to be angry at those around you for pushing through your armor and hurting you in your “core”, for not loving you for who you are inside…but in a strange, round about and ugly way, they’re trying to do the exact opposite.

When people who love you make ill-mannered comments it can be extremely confusing, but often they are in fact (unconsciously) trying to get to your core, not because they don’t love you or want to hurt you, but because it’s the part of you they love the most…and haven’t seen in a while, since its been buried behind all that armor.

It seems that you wanted to run to an attorney either because there is a way deeper unhappiness in your marriage that’s being lumped into this experience, or because you’re being challenged to look at who you are, how you’ve changed, and who you want to be… and that can be really painful and scary. From the way you wrote your question, what you said, and how you explained yourself, it seems the latter…though you have to make that distinction on your own, and get really honest with yourself.

The thing about emotional armor is that is serves a purpose; a great purpose. It keeps us protected, until we’re ready to shed the story and the rationalizations, and be vulnerable. You and your blood and guts and breath and skin and human-ness and imperfectly perfect self have been asked by your friends and your husband, yes in an unkind way, but asked nonetheless, to shed the layers and bring your authentic self to the table.

My suggestion to you is this: use the word “and” as much as possible right now. Your husband said something extremely unkind and hurtful…and…it’s hurting for a reason. My challenge to you is this: rather than fight back like many would, take a breath and give yourself a gift out of this and look at the pierced armor as an opportunity. Get curious about why you’re wearing it in the first place. Focus on the you behind the stories, inside the armor.

Then and only then, explain to your husband how he hurt you, and share with him what he can do from this point forward to help support you in a way that feels good and kind.

My darling gorgeous vulnerable open sweet kind formerly something or another and presently shifting woman… you’ve been walking heavy. Heavy with thick armor and bulky reasons and sizeable fears. What are you keeping yourself safe from, who is it that you’ve become that you don’t want to show the world, let alone yourself?

Get quiet, ask yourself tough questions and respond with honesty. Who are you afraid to be? Who are you afraid you’ve become? Who is the woman behind the iron clad story?

Give yourself permission to shed your armor, work through and appreciate this experience by releasing your fears and your history and your explanations, and allow yourself to travel through this next chapter of your life…lightly.

Love love love,

The following article was published in The IS Collection’s March 2010 issue. Check out their website here!

Buying things and giving things and getting things. Affording and keeping and wanting and craving and needing things. There is a stigma about our attachment with and desire for things: Fingers pointed, judgments formed, comments made and conclusions jumped to-because of our relationship with things. But the thing is, things are not a bad thing. I wonder though, what really is the thing about things?

Some things are just things and other things represent things far more than material things. People, places, that time a long time ago and that time yet to come. Everyone has different things that matter, different things that mean something. Sometimes things are the only way to say, describe, explain, express that thing that you want to say, describe, explain, express…but don’t-can’t-won’t…without a thing–so you don’t have to say a thing.

Some things are things that make you feel envied, admired, approved, attractive, important, accepted…seen. But those things are not long lasting things. Those things are outer things that tell a story about inner things- and that’s a whole other thing.

It’s OK to want things, maybe need things. Wonder what would happen if you don’t have things, buy things, give things, get things. Be curious about that one thing that makes you feel part of things, or makes you feel like a pretty young thing. Maybe its does help to have that thing that says I’m moving on…for real this time. Maybe.

Maybe feeling the feelings…those feelings, isn’t accessible yet. Maybe they are too much or too bold or too heavy for this moment, right now. Maybe you need to see it, prove it, show it… out here, in the world of touchable, definable things. And maybe that’s perfectly perfect. Maybe.

We don’t live in a thing-less world. But instead of judging and pointing and commenting and deciding…let’s talk about things, and get clear about some things. Be awake, aware, here, wondering, curious. Think about things.

What’s the story behind that thing? What does it mean? What does it say? Why is it important? Why do you want it, need it, have to have it? What kinds of expectations are you placing on yourself to have that thing and that thing… oh, and that thing too. Who are you, with or without your things?

The thing about things is that some things are just material things, and other things symbolize more…indefinable, indescribable, inner feelings and thoughts and experiences. Both are allowed- human-part of the process-beautiful, as long as you know the difference.

So be curious about things. Consider your relationship with material things and inner things and outer things and other things. What do certain things represent to you, say about you, do for you? Respect other people’s relationship to things- respect your relationship to things.

Think about things, and begin to understand what your thing is…about things.

And that’s the thing about things.

Love,