A Teaching Job

I have officially been hired to teach school this fall. This is a good thing, yet I worry about how this job will affect my system. I had hoped to find a part time teaching job because the alter that is in charge of being a teacher has a tendency to take over the system when she is out for long periods of time. I thought that a part time position would give her the time she needed and still allow the rest of my system time to shine. Because this is a full time position and my first year teaching this curriculum, I will need to spend many hours outside of the classroom developing lesson plans, which means that Trina will need to be out – a lot.

I hope when my 3D children and family call me, they will be understanding towards me and not take it personally if they reach Trina instead of me. When she is lesson planning she prefers not to be disturbed and can be a bit abrupt. I hope that when I run into people from school when Trina is not out that I will somehow remember who they are. This has been a problem in the past. And finally, I hope that when Trina is out, I will recognize people who are important to me.

I know that these are probably not the “normal” worries that most first year teachers have, but this is my normal. I know Trina is a capable teacher – above average. She loves the children she teaches and loves her content area. She is excited to be in the classroom helping students gain a love for knowledge. She has good classroom management skills, and her procedures are firmly in place. Although we will work harder than we ever have before, this will be a good year - if we can somehow figure out how to balance our system.

It feels strange posting about a job. Although most of you don't know who I am, I worry that people will think, 'I hope my kid isn't in her class.' I understand the stigma of mental illness, but I reassure you that my students will be safe, loved, and well taught. Trina is really good at what she does.

Father's Day

We had a nice Father’s day today. My 3D child  made a card for his daddy. My child wrote to his dad, “You are crowned king of this day, and I will do whatever you say – today.” My little buddy is one independent child. He really doesn’t like being obedient – at home. At school he is always well behaved and does just what the teacher asks. It cracked me up how he added “today” at the end of that sentence. He didn’t want his daddy to think he would be obedient always.


We attended church and then went to visit my amazing in-laws. I have been truly blessed in the husband and in-law department. I love these people. My husband is adorable with our child. He is an involved parent. He attends everything that our child does. Parent Teacher Conferences, ball games, music recitals – if my child has something – his daddy is there. Seeing their relationship has been very healing for me. I would have loved to have a daddy like him.

Father’s day used to be a tough day for me. When I still had a relationship with my dad, this day was awkward. Hallmark does not create a card that expresses the proper sentiment for a completely dysfunctional relationship. During the many years that I haven't had a relationship with my father, this day was sad. At church the talks were based on honoring our fathers and hearing about the glorious vanilla ice cream relationships that other people had with their ideal fathers. The children sing songs about running to greet daddy when he comes homes, yet my memories were of hiding when my dad came home. It all hurt – a lot. Sometimes the hurt was so big that I had to feign needing to use the restroom. Then I would stay out of the chapel until the speeches and songs that glorified fatherhood ended.

However, now that I have positive examples of wonderful fathers in my life, Father’s day is much better. I think of the relationship my child has with my husband and how he runs to greet his daddy each day, and I can hear the songs and smile. I can relate the talks to my husband and sweet father- in-law and smile thinking of these two great men that bless my life.

Yes, I still think of my father. I wonder how he is. Yes, it would be nice if he were someone he isn’t, but the reality of our situation is that I have a father who is still abusive. Because I love my Heavenly Father and I know how much he loves me, I can not in good conscience allow my earthly father to hurt me anymore, so I stay away from him.

I forgave my father several years ago. I still remember the day that forgiveness for him came. I was sitting in a college class when the feeling of forgiveness swept over me. I wondered what my responsibility to my father was now that I had forgiven him. Did I need to call or write? If he got sick was I morally bound to care for him? When I got home that evening from college, I asked my husband, “What do I do with this knowledge? What is my responsibility to him?”

My husband answered, “You don’t have a responsibility to him. You do nothing. You enjoy the feeling of peace that forgiveness brings, but you do not allow him to hurt you again. You need to stay safe.”

I felt comfortable with what my husband said. He has been a trouper throughout my healing process. I know that his life is better when my life is stable. He has never met my father and has no desire to ever meet him. If I chose to go see my father, my husband would not understand why, but he would support me in what ever I decided to do. I understand his desire to keep me safe and mentally sound – as mentally sound as a person with ten alters can be. I love and appreciate his willingness to allow this to be my journey. He trusts and allows the process to happen as it needs to. He doesn’t try to push the process along. He doesn’t get scared when I am struggling. He backs off from me when I need my space, but he is there when I need his closeness. He is exactly the man I asked God to send into my life.

This Father’s day, I am thankful to have him in my life. He is the best.

DID, PTSD, or Both

Sometimes I am not sure if what I experience is from DID or PTSD – or if my experience is both disorders blending together. Today started out well. My 3D child wanted to go get his very first set of new scriptures. He has hand me downs, but he wanted a set with his name on them. He was so excited. It was fun to watch him shop for scriptures. He chose scriptures that are black leather bound with gold edged pages, and we had his name embossed on the front in gold script. We even got a little carrying case to keep them protected. He could hardly wait the fifteen minutes it took to emboss them. He has carried them everywhere today.


Because we were in the area, I wanted to stop at an outlet store that is near the scripture store – big mistake. I hadn’t been to this outlet store for years. I had a little trouble finding it in the industrial area – one metal building with chain link fence looks pretty much like the next, but we found it, parked, and went inside. I was immediately nervous about being there. I’m not sure what set me off, but I was anxious as all get out. The building was old, and crowded with product, and in need of repair, and it smelled like I don’t know what – a combination of sour moisture, cement, dust, and darkness. I couldn’t get the darkness out of my head. In one area the smell was pervasive, and I couldn’t bring myself to touch anything for fear of getting the smell on me.

I looked around – were other people smelling or feeling what I was feeling. The other customers looked okay browsing the overwhelming selection of product. I could feel myself starting to shut down. I was beginning to block out the sights – trying not to look at what was around me – trying to shut out the smells and sounds of the place. Everything seemed so dark and crowded and lacking air. My chest felt heavy and I could feel pressure and weight on my neck. I reached up, but of course nothing was there restricting me. I could feel one of my littles, Annie, struggling to stay calm. I could sense Cat and Laura trying to hush her. I could feel her panic rising into terror.

People who shop at this store usually come out of there with a full cartload, but I had to get out of there. I only had a few things in my cart and that was only because my 3D child had put things in it. I continually told my 3D child, “Don’t touch anything. Please don’t touch the counter. Everything is dirty. You are going to get sick.” I felt like my skin was crawling. I quickly paid my thirteen dollar total and left the store.

I knew I needed to be careful when I backed out of the parking lot. I was in complete a hyper-alert state. Every car seemed too close. People seemed too close. I struggled to get my bearings. It took me a minute to even remember how to turn my radio on. My 3D child was hungry and wanted to stop at McDonalds – which was fine – but I couldn’t remember where the McDonald’s was in that area, so I drove to one close to our house. I had been sweating in the outlet store, but now the McDonalds felt freezing cold. We didn’t stay long because I was exhausted and felt like crying and breaking things – but one has to keep it together to appear normal to the 3D child who doesn’t yet know that mommy has DID and PTSD. At times like this my throat hurts from the pressure of unshed anguish.

When we got home, I fell asleep on the couch next to my child while he played a video game. I am still feeling high strung, hyper-alert, and near tears twelve hours later. I do feel more of a sense of Annie – what she looks like and who she is. She is one that I am just getting to know. I used to call her Little One. It took her a long time to even dare reveal her name. She is slight, and blond, and has pale skin, and pale green eyes. The terror she feels is nearly too much to bear. I wonder if she could ever feel safe enough to share what she has been through – if so maybe she could find healing and peace. Or maybe what she knows and has seen is too black to ever share. Maybe if Cat and Laura would stop shushing her . . . but maybe their shushing protects the system. Maybe what Annie knows would destroy us all.

It is one o'clock in the morning. I need to try to sleep. I think I will take a page from my child and try to find peace in my scriptures.

I’m Grateful

Today I have a song to share with you. The artist, Paul Cardall, has an amazing story. If you need inspiration today, read about him here. He was born with half a heart - he says that God made up the difference. He was fortunate to survive not only his childhood but also a heart transplant a year ago. A few days ago he climbed a mountain in his state to honor his brother who died a year ago. See video of his climb here. He has faced many trials, yet he still finds the good in life, gives thanks to Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, and uses his amazing musical ability to bring peace into the lives of many people.

Here is the song I want to share with you today. I hope you will both listen to the song and watch the video as it contains many beautiful images.

Grateful by Paul Cardall

Paul – I am grateful for your positive example.

In this music video, the words “Be willing to forgive” jump out at me. I like this phrase. As survivors we are sometimes commanded by well meaning people to forgive. “You have to forgive,” they say. But until we work through our grief and really understand what happened to us, forgiveness seems like one more burden we carry. I often felt like a failure – like I had let God down because I couldn’t reach forgiveness. In a few days, I will tell you more about my journey to find forgiveness for my father, but today, I want the words, “Be willing to forgive,” to be in your mind. I love that Paul Cardall used that phrase because it makes finding forgiveness a gift instead of a burden.

Today I am grateful for:

My life and good health

My family and friends

My beautiful home

All the beautiful things in our world

And of course, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Cat's Apricot Tree

The old house we moved into after the divorce had a giant apple tree with a tree hut built into the branches. We played there often. The little kids could not climb up until they were no longer toddlers. I enjoyed playing there with my sisters, but I had another tree that I liked even better.


Toward the back of our yard was a huge, old apricot tree. It was covered with thick branches and green foliage. Because this tree was so big, I could climb up the sturdy branches and perch where no one could see me. I spent many hours in that tree. I felt safe – like no person could see me, touch me, or hear me when I was tucked into the leafy branches. I was free from the pestering of siblings and parents. The tree was my calm and quiet friend.

Mom would come outside and call, “Jane, Jane.” But I wouldn’t answer her. No person, not even my mom could know about my secret safe place. I felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to answer, “Here I am.” I would wait until she went back into the house, climb down quickly, and run inside to see what she wanted. My tree stayed safe for about two years.

One late spring after the tree had leafed out, we had a horrible blizzard. Between the wind and the weight of the snow on the leafed out branches, my safe place was torn out by the roots and flattened to the ground. I mourned my tree. I wanted my step-dad to be able to right it and put the roots back into the ground. He said it wouldn’t work because too many of the roots had been broken off – only a few remained. I knew he was right, but I wanted him to try to save its life. I kept thinking, ‘He won’t even try.’ My young mind didn’t even consider the size of the tree – it would have taken a crane to lift it.

I felt horrible as the tree was cut into pieces small enough to take away. Mom had taught us that if we sinned there was a price that had to be paid. If we didn’t pay the price for our sin then someone else would have to pay the price for us – meaning that someone we loved may get hurt or sick. I knew I was guilty. I had killed my tree – my safe spot – because I hadn’t answered Mom when she called out to me. My tree paid the price for my sin. I cried for my tree; I missed it so much. I was nervous again because I had no safe place to go anymore. There was no place for me to hide so that I could recharge.

Now that I am older, I realize that the tree didn’t die because I was naughty; it died because of the snow storm. God wasn’t punishing me. I did learn that quite often I prefer my plant friends to humans; trees never lie to me or make up stories to scare me into being good. I mourned more for that tree than for some of my friendships and relationships that have ended. Trees give – they never take. That tree belonged to Cat. It was her safe place. In her emotional safe place that tree still exists – only now it has a house in it so that she doesn’t have to come down unless she wants to.

One time I lived in a house that had no trees, I thought I would die for want of them. As I drove down streets, I would imagine a giant machine that could dig a tree and put it in my yard. The house was a rental, so we couldn’t even plant a tree in the yard. Luckily I didn’t live there very long.

If you are having a tough day, go out and meet a tree. If you can’t climb it, sit and let it support your back. Feel the strength and power in the tree. Listen to the breeze ruffle the leaves – they often sound like wind chimes. I swear trees have a life force that helps recharge a person’s batteries. I am grateful for trees.

When We were Black

As I mentioned before, the polygamist cult members believed my dad was black because he answered, “Yes,” when mom’s cousins asked if he was. From that day on, this rumor grew legs and ran around the cult. One person said they went to my grandfather’s funeral and he was as black as black. One person said you could tell my dad was black because he had such a dark spirit. They were correct in saying he had a dark (evil) spirit. I personally would not mind being black. In fact, I often tease my kids about future spouses and encourage them to bring some color into our family. When I was teen, a boy told me that I looked like an albino with dark hair. If I didn’t have dark hair, I would blend right into the walls. Yes, I am pasty. I make Casper look like he has a tan.

When my older sisters and I were beginning to be viewed as potential mates by the young men in the cult, the rumor resurfaced in an attempt to keep them from being interested in us. Mom was devastated. She knew that if the people of the cult believed we had black blood then our chances for a future there were next to none. The people of this cult are incredibly prejudiced against all races but white.

During the time this rumor surfaced, Alex Haley’s story, Roots, was a television mini-series sensation. We loved Roots and watched every single episode. Kunta Kinte, played by LeVar Burton, was our hero. Being teens, we thought this rumor was wonderfully funny. We went along with it, just as dad had, and owned the accusations with all the tenacity that we – being as white as snow – could muster. Mom was appalled by our behavior, but we said, “What is so bad about being black? If Dad was black, there is nothing we can do to change it. We are still the same people.” Much to our mother’s dismay, we tried to mimic the African dialect we heard on Roots and continued to laugh and joke about our “black blood.”

At the next cult dance, my boyfriend ignored me – completely. After several frustrating attempts to get him to talk to me, I went outside to cool off. I found out that his parents (his father was the cult’s leader – my great uncle) had told him that he could not see me anymore. I was crushed – not so much with the loss of the boyfriend, but by the fact that he didn’t have the courage to tell me this himself. He sent his half brother – my cousin and best friend (one person) - to deliver the news. I felt disgusted with him for being such a lamb. He wasn’t particularly strong minded – which bothered me. He was intelligent, but he was a follower – all the way. I was fourteen years old at the time.

Some of my sisters married into the cult, but their men were not considered inner circle men. Years later, the rumor of us having black blood kept my little nieces safe from the abusive inner circle. Every single one of my sisters, nieces, and nephews with the supposed “black blood” made it out of the cult. Mom was right – there was no future for us in the cult. I was thankful for the small minds that started the rumor. Sometimes bigotry and prejudice can work in a person’s favor.

Edited to add:
I in no way wish to make light of prejudice or bigotry.  In my situation bigotry kept my family safe. I understand that bigotry is almost always a hateful and hurtful thing. As a teen (and as an adult) I often wished for skin of a darker hue. I am thankful that I was at least blessed with dark hair. I  do not wish to demean  the fight for rights that people who are not white have endured throughout the history of our world. In my perfect world, it wouldn't matter what color a person is, what religion a person belongs to, or what mental illness a person suffers from - we would all be treated with respect.

Spicy Spinach Artichoke Dip and a Message to My Sister

I was craving this yesterday, so I made it. My son loves to use it as a sandwich spread. I just love to eat it on bread. It always tastes better after being in the refrigerator overnight.


Spicy Spinach Artichoke Dip

1 – 12 ounce package of spinach (fresh or frozen)
1 – can artichoke bottoms (not marinated) - chopped
12 ounces sour cream
1 jalapeño pepper – finely diced
4 green onions - sliced
2 tsp fresh chives – chopped (or ½ tsp dried)
½ tsp salt
1/8 tsp black pepper
¼ cup sliced almonds
Hard rolls, baguettes, or crackers

I prepare the other ingredients while the spinach is cooking.

Make sure to cover your hand with a glove or with a baggie when you chop the hot pepper, or you will regret it later.

Steam spinach until tender, drain on paper towels – use paper towels to remove most of the water from the spinach. Chop spinach.

In medium bowl combine first nine ingredients – stir well.

Refrigerate for several hours or over night.

Serve on thin slices of hard rolls, baguettes, or crackers.

My dear sweet little sister has been going through her own personal Gethsemane lately. I want to tell her how proud I am of her being able to set healthy boundaries. I know it has been hard on her because many people in our family are not used to seeing her stand up, make her own choices, and refuse to allow others to step on her or tear her down. I want her to know that she is incredibly strong. She may get tired of always needing to be strong, but we come from tough stock.

A message to my sister: “Remember our cousin who left the polygamist cult several years ago? She left with no support from her family. Our family was even disgusted with her mother for not being more supportive of her. But you know what, she left, she even fought off cancer, and she is happy and strong. You will find strength you never knew you had – just as our cousin did. When she left the cult and hid out at my house she was an emotional mess. She is now one of the strongest people I know. I admire her for her tenacity. You have come such a long way. I am glad you don’t allow people to use emotional blackmail against you anymore. I’m glad you are being treated like a person instead of an object. I know you are tired from working two jobs to support your children. I know you are frustrated with dealing with people who don’t seem to hear you, but it will get better. Although some in our family are not supportive of the choices you have made to improve your life, I want you to know that I will always have your back, and that I will always love you. I am thankful that you are my sister.”

Buffalo Wings

This is my family's favorite wing recipe.

Buffalo Wings

24 chicken wing pieces
¼ cup melted butter or light olive oil
¼ cup hot pepper sauce
3 tablespoons vinegar
3 tablespoons hot pepper jelly (optional)
1 package dry ranch dressing mix
½ tsp paprika

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spray baking pan with non-stick cooking spray. Dip chicken in mixture of butter or olive oil, hot pepper sauce, vinegar, and hot pepper jelly.

The recipe for Hot Pepper Jelly is posted below. I make it every fall. It adds sweetness to the recipe.

Ready for coating

Put chicken in baking pan. Sprinkle chicken with dry dressing mix and paprika.

Bake for 40 minutes. Broil for a few minutes to brown.

Hot Pepper Jelly
2 Medium red or green bell peppers, cut into eighths - The color of the pepper will determine the color of the finished jelly. I do both green and red because it makes a wonderful plate of festive crackers at Christmas time.

6 Jalapeno peppers, cut in half, 4 with seeds, 2 without - I use red jalapeno pepper for the red jelly.
8 Cups sugar
2 Cups cider vinegar
2 - 3 ounce pouches of liquid pectin

Combine peppers in processor or blender; pulse until chopped fine or pureed. In large pan stir together peppers, sugar, and vinegar. Boil over high heat for 5 minutes. Add pectin. Return to boil for one minute. Skim foam.

Ladle into 9 sterilized ½ pint jars, wipe tops, put on lids and rings. Process in water bath for 15 minutes. Store in a cool dark place.

Serve over crackers spread with cream cheese.
I don't have pictures of this recipe being made because I haven't made it yet this year. I'll post pictures later this fall.

Glory

“So Sunshine,” you ask, “What about sex. How does a person who has been sexually abused as a child deal with sex?” If you didn't ask, close your eyes, plug your ears, and chant, "La, la, la; I can't hear you," because  I'm going to tell you anyway.

Before I began having flashbacks of the sexual abuse, I loved sex. Like many survivors of childhood sexual abuse, I was a pregnant teenager, and had my first child when I was sixteen years old. Having sex made me feel powerful – like I was in control. I got to choose who I had sex with.

After I started having flashbacks, the thought of sex was completely repulsive to me. I was scared of sex. At the time, I was single, so there wasn’t anyone else to consider. Shortly after the remembering began, I met a man, fell in love with him, and apprehensively awaited my wedding night. I was a mother with children who was scared to have sex with my new husband. The only thing that got me through it was the fact that my sweet husband, on the way to the hotel said, “You know, you don’t have to have sex.” I felt that he was completely non-threatening. I decided then that no matter what my father and his friends had done to me, they were not going to take this part of my life away.

Because I felt safe with my husband, I was able to have a satisfying sex life with him. He has never triggered a flashback. However, sex was not the same as it was before the remembering.

After I went into counseling because I knew I had alters, I began to get to know my alters. At first there was me (the host), Cat, Laura, and Dot. I thought it was just us four. One day I could feel another part. She was depressed and self destructive. She wanted the system to die so that she could die. She was full of self hatred. I asked, “Who are you?” Her answer was a string of horrible names that Dad and his friends had given her. Because I couldn’t call her those names, I started calling her Angel – a name she also hated because she didn’t feel she was at all angelic. She was the part of my mind created to deal with sex. As a child, I must have felt that a teenager was old enough to do the things that were being done to me.

This is what she wrote in our journal over a year ago:
“I wanted to be dead for a long time. I hate what I have done in my life. I hate what has been done to me. I am angry that Dad and others made me think that sex was a way to control people. I have been silent for over ten years – ever since we learned the truth. I am fourteen years old. I have long straight dark hair and brown eyes. I am really thin. I hate how our body looks now. The host eats too much – probably because Cat and Laura are hungry all the time. I don’t get hungry.

I feel depressed almost all the time because I feel betrayed, used, and abused. My names before were slut, whore, stupid b****, f******  b****, c***, and dumb. I just wanted to die. I felt dead. Because I felt dead, the host named me Angel. She said that angels are dead people or spirits that help us. She said I was created to help her back when she was a little girl. I feel like I just tricked her into thinking that sex was okay, but I didn’t know until we remembered. Even though I was the one it happened to, Cat had all the fear, and until she spilled that fear, I thought sex was the only reason for living. Now I feel confused and tricked. I want to try to get better so that I don’t feel so awful all the time.”

After several weeks of talking with Angel, we agreed on the name Glory for her. She didn’t like Angel – she felt it was too wimpy of a name. As Glory healed she started to feel less mean towards herself and the other alters. She also refused to ever have sex again. She said, “I am only fourteen. I shouldn’t be having sex.” I was proud of her for setting healthy boundaries. She was impatient with our child alters, but has since healed and grown enough to tolerate and appreciate them now. She is even fond of them.

Because we hadn’t had access to Glory for so many years and like I said before, sex was not the same without her. A new alter – Grown up – stepped forward so that we can maintain an intimate relationship with our husband. Children should not have sex, but it is perfectly okay for grown ups to have sex. I’m glad to have a grown up in my system. :)

Partners of people with DID need to make sure to never initiate sex when a child alter is out; to do so causes the system to be re-abused. Likewise, a person with DID should never have sex when a child alter is out. We can’t always rely on our partners knowing when they are dealing with a child. Set and maintain healthy boundaries. Having safe places for our children alters is important because when a grown up needs to out, the children need to be sent to their own spaces. That is why I talked about creating safe places last time.

Because of my abuse, I need my husband to be clean shaven at all times. Beards are triggering for me. He is a sweetheart and shaves every single day. It is helpful that he in no way resembles any of the men who abused me. I am thankful for my wonderful husband. He truly is a treasure among men. He doesn’t take it personally if I am unable to be intimate. He is willing to love me – all of me – even when I am having an off day.

Creating Safe Places

Early on after being diagnosed with DID, I learned on a wonderful message board that it was important to create internal safe places for each of my alters. After discussing this with my therapist, I worked together with my alters to create homes for them. Creating safe places is important for several reasons. When an alter is not upfront, they need a place to be. If an alter gets stressed or needs a break, they need a safe place to go. When the host is doing things that are not age appropriate for a child (yes, like having sex), they need to be in their safe place.

Now when I need to talk to an alter, I can see them in their space and we can talk. I can see if they are asleep or awake. If they are not needed upfront, being in their safe place reduces the mental noise of too many opinions.

There is no right or wrong way to do this. A safe place can be whatever the alter feels is safe. They will let you know what they need. For those of you without DID this exercise probably sounds really crazy, but for those of us with DID, it is an important step in organizing our system. Think about it, if you have a place for everything and everything is in its place, doesn’t your home run more smoothly? It is the same concept. I don’t want any of my parts to be lost because each of them serves a valuable function.

The safe places for each of my alters are vastly different although many share a love of books and have included bookshelves full of books in their safe places.

Cat lives in a tree house. Her tree house is not an ordinary tree house. It is a small home in the trees. It is warm and homey with a sod roof and a lot of books. The paint in her house is done in warm jewel tones.

Laura lives in a stone cottage in a walled garden. Her house is bright and sunny. She loves all plants and flowers. Again, I wish I was an artist because I would draw all the safe places.

Joy lives in a sun filled nursery with her caretaker Dot. Her nursery opens up to a yard with a generous amount of green grass,  a swing set, sprinklers, and a sandbox.

Shadow lives in my chest, close to my heart, where she feels the safest.

No one doesn’t need a safe place because she can simply disappear when she needs to feel safe.

I have other alters with other safe places but they don’t want me to share them with you today.

If you have DID and you haven’t yet created safe places for your alters, talk to your therapist about it. I hope it helps your system as much as it has helped mine.