Summerly vs. Erikson

This paper is more-or-less the story of my life wrapped around Erik Erikson's stages of development. Each stage of development is marked in bold and the goals/themes of each stage is marked in italics.

It was written for my Human Development Class taught by Tiffany Edwards at Portland Community College, Winter term 2010.


Summerly vs. Erikson: My journey up the staircase


Trust vs. Mistrust
Concepts: basic trust, comfort, security, having primary needs met.

The couple who raised me submitted an application to adopt a baby girl two years before I was born. My biological mother chose this couple out of a book when I was still in the womb. She and I had 3 days together before I was taken to stay with a temporary foster family. I stayed with them for eleven days before they took me to my adoptive parents. I once found a note they sent with me that indicated I was a fairly easy child, despite the fact that I had Jaundice. I was even-tempered and followed a schedule. It was a wacky schedule and included feedings at odd hours, but I was always regular with it, even after switching houses and families.

When I was born my hips didn’t line up correctly with their sockets so I had to wear a brace when I slept. According to my mother I responded to the brace quite well and it only mildly disrupted my sleep for about a week. I suppose I’ve been adaptable since the very beginning, but I was a lucky kid and was very much wanted by the people around me. I had a large extended family that was around often, and I was the only girl on my father’s side so I got a lot of extra attention. I was spoiled, smiley and started laughing (pretty much non-stop) since the chubby little age of six months.

I think I easily could have been set up to fail this stage because of the adoption and the lack of bonding with my biological mother. I changed care-givers 3 different times within the first two weeks of my life. Rather than fail from the get go, I ended up passing this stage with flying colors. I was fortunate that all three families involved with my adoption loved and wanted me. Even when my adoptive mother went back to work I had a slew of family members that were more than willing to spend time with me and make me feel loved. This wide range of loving care-givers could account for why I didn’t have abandonment issues or any separation anxiety later in child-hood.

 
Autonomy vs. Shame
Concepts: independence, insecurity, mobility, difference between self and others.

As a toddler I was all over the place and talked to everyone. If there was an activity happening, I wanted to be in on it. I was loud, outspoken, and stubborn since the day I started speaking a few months before my first birthday. I went to an early pre-school program that had a much wider variety of children than the schools that followed. The students came from different backgrounds, religions, and ethnicities, but I never really noticed a difference between any of us. I wanted to play with everyone. I wanted them to show me new things and I wanted to show them everything that I knew.

My best friend, Beau, also went to the pre-school so we had a tendency to be locked together at the hip, but we loved meeting new people together. We were adventurers. Professional, in our minds. One day we were deep in the Sandbox Desert far, far away from civilization. We were on a mission to discover a new species of dinosaur. Digging was a grueling task, and no one else had wanted to join us on our journey, so we went alone. After what seemed like hours we uncovered the remains of a new dinosaur, the Paperplateosaurus.

Sadly, our discovery was misunderstood by adults due to our still limited vocabulary. We didn’t mind though, we were independent discoverers of dinosaur’s and that was enough for us.

 
Initiative vs. Guilt
Concepts: goals, independent initiative, self-motivation, skill development.

I became very active early on in my childhood. By age 4 I was going to school, taking dance lessons, learning gymnastics, having arts & crafts days, and teaching myself to read. I loved reading and writing probably more than I loved anything else, so my parents enrolled me in a special reading program. I absolutely loved learning and my full activity schedule kept me very busy.

I started Kindergarten at age 5 and the wheels in my head just kept turning faster. By first grade I had taught myself long division and started writing short stories. My class was required to keep a journal which I wrote in even on non-journal days. I felt like my life was very important and I wanted to keep track of everything that was happening. I was going to tell my story in every way I could think of and to everyone that would listen. I’m not sure anyone else would have found it interesting as looking back through old journals shows me that I mainly spoke of who and what I liked, along with a few random activities I planned to engage in.

I helped my mom write grocery lists and liked to alphabetize the items we needed to buy. I got to push the shopping cart (when I got tall enough) and before then I got to cross the items off of the list. I would inform people what brands they should buy and I made friends with all of the ladies that provided samples on Saturdays. I was a little, blonde-haired chatterbox and I was determined to meet everyone in the world and tell them exactly who I was. The lady at the bakery, the clerk at the video store, and all the other consumers in the grocery/department store line got to hear about how I was adopted and I was special because I was chosen, and how I was going to be a famous singer like Reba McEntire. I knew exactly where I was headed, and no one was going to stop me.

 
Industry vs. Inferiority
Concepts: competence, purpose, merging with others, developing hobbies.

I think it would be safe to say that I felt more than competent when beginning the Industry vs. Inferiority stage. During the years associated with this stage my schedule remained full and my interests continued to expand and develop. I felt that I had goals and even though they changed often, they stayed very similar. When faced with opposition, I took a moment to accept my losses, took a deep breath and moved on with even more determination.

My love for writing led from short stories to skits. This began during the holiday season when I was 7 years old. I wrote a play about how Santa and his elves prepare for Christmas at the North Pole. I don’t recall the actual plot, but I do remember that it included a pre-sleigh ride exercise routine (probably inspired by my mother’s obsession with exercise). The cast was composed of cousins, aunts and uncles, and was performed for the rest of the family at our annual Christmas Eve party. This became a tradition for several years and led to a family talent show that I also organized.

Eventually I made friends with another person who liked to act and we wrote a play together which we performed for our parents. After seeing our fabulous acting skills, our parents enrolled us in a community theatre program which I continued to work with until I moved at the age of 16. While working with the theatre I was sometimes in two plays at once, and even had the opportunity to perform in plays at the University. I got to miss a week of school in the fifth grade and, incidentally, my class went on a field trip to that very play. The celebrity-like status that followed made me feel like I could do anything.

More than anything I wanted to help people. When I was nine I met a couple who was sitting on the corner by Kmart holding a sign that read “Will work for food.” My heart sank. It was the first time I realized not everyone had a house, or food, or a bunch of crap they didn’t need. I was depressed for a week before I found a solution; I was going to become a famous actor/singer like I always planned. I would get to do what I loved all day and I would also have enough money to help the people that really needed it. I was in fourth grade when I decided I would somehow save the world.

I believe Erikson would say I passed this stage as I developed an overwhelming sense of confidence and initiative. I knew what I wanted and I was going for it. However, I may have been over-encouraged during this time, as it made me feel a little bit entitled. I rarely had to be corrected and did not take kindly to criticism. This mostly happened during dance, an activity I was decent in but I didn’t excel at it. My suckage probably had to do with my hip misplacement during childhood as my leg is still a little crooked in the hip joint which prevents me from being able to do the splits. However, I didn’t realize my leg was crooked at the time and I had a snippy attitude when corrected. The teacher even had to request that my mother stay during class to make sure I didn’t get an attitude.

I also enrolled in and quit piano lessons five different times by age 10. I always enjoyed it until I had to play with my left hand, then it would become difficult, I would get frustrated, and quit. This is a pattern that has, for the most part, stayed with me. Possibly because the things I enjoyed and was exposed to in my youth were almost always easy tasks for me. I got so used to this ease that when a task was difficult for me I freaked out, and the lack of praise cut deep. Rather than practice a difficult activity of interest until developing skill, it’s been easier to avoid activities that bring criticism altogether. Instruments have always been difficult for me to learn so I have never put much effort into learning them. However, my feelings of entitlement involving skill have lingered and a part of me still thinks that one day I will pick up a guitar and magically be able to play it flawlessly.
 

Identity vs. Role Confusion
Concepts: identity, individualism, self-understanding, coping skills, finding ones place in the world.

I feel like there are some parts of me that I have understood pretty well for several years. Like how I’ve always wanted a job that would allow me to help people. I’ve maintained a similar sense of style. And I’ve always felt that it was important to be kind to people. But I never developed any security in myself. My identity was different than my care-givers expected it to be. I felt like a failure to them, I felt like all that mattered was what was on the outside and I was much more concerned with what was on the inside.

In some ways I feel like adolescence came to me in the form of a never ending concrete wall with no passageways. Occasionally I would find a hole in the wall, but only large enough to fit a limb or two through, never all of me. Whenever it looked like the wall stopped, more concrete would be added to it. My efforts to escape this wall often resulted in me running into it head first only to feel crippled for days, weeks, sometimes months. The wall made it’s debut in the seventh grade, the same year my mind was flooded with unwanted memories of sexual abuse involving my brother and some of his friends, one of whom we considered part of the family for most of my youth. I also specifically recalled my mother walking in once or twice, and ignoring it.

These memories bothered me greatly, but I said nothing and pushed them out as best as I could. I was still able to get along with my family some of the time, but other times I just felt so angry that all I could do was hide in my room and cry. My parents assumed the change in my behavior was due to the normal hormone changes that take place during this time. Personally, I feel it was a combination.

Junior high was an interesting change. There were so many new people and so many different personalities. I never quite knew where I fit in. My main social group were the folks I did theatre with and they went to a high school in another part of town. I had so many different interests and liked so many different types of people and had always been what I refer to as a ‘floater’. Now I see that floating allows a person to fit in with multiple groups, but back then it made me feel like I didn’t really belong anywhere. This feeling stayed with me throughout high school and made it easier to isolate myself later on.

I felt like I knew who I was, but the world was trying to stop me from being that person. Like every single little bit of myself had to be tested with opposition after opposition before I was allowed to own that part of me. Sometimes it felt like too much effort, so I would run into the wall and try to accept my losses. Most examples that pop into my head regarding this issue involve communication, or the lack thereof.

I really hated the bickering and backstabbing that went on during adolescence and tried to avoid it; unfortunately it’s hard to avoid something that is all around you. In ninth grade I really liked Richard Farnsworth; he was perfect. He went to high school and lived sort of down the street from me, past all the farms. I invited my friends to his New Years Eve party and Jessika was on flirtation over-drive with Richard, which I thought was rude. Instead of throwing a typical adolescent jealousy tantrum (which never got anyone anywhere), I pulled Jess aside and informed her that the guy she was hitting on was in fact Richard-the guy I was super crushing on-and could she please find someone else to flirt with. She hadn’t realized the situation, and agreed to respect my feelings. But about ten minutes later she was working on him again. I was pissed, but knew that if I talked to her while I was angry it would just be a shouting match that would make me feel worse and would resolve nothing, so I opted to wait a few days until I had calmed down and could express my feelings rationally. Jess would not stop bringing it up even though I had told her why I was waiting to discuss it in depth. She even had me forced into the school counselor’s office, which just made me feel even more disrespected. That night Jessika swallowed a bottle of pills and I arrived at school the next day only to be called a bitch and be blamed for her suicide attempt by our friends. All I wanted was for a friend to respect my feelings, instead I got dubbed the ‘bitch who tried to kill Jessika’.

It seemed like no one really listened to me about anything. I didn’t feel safe with my friends at school, and my theatre friends from town were starting to graduate and leave for college, and my family, clearly, did not care to listen either.
Later that year I woke up to find my brother’s friend molesting me. My mother didn’t believe me, but my dad called the police and we got to do the whole court thing. It was only a sentencing because he pleaded guilty. My entire farm town came to court that day. Only two people were there to extend support to me, everyone else was on T.J.’s side, because he was an upstanding young man but I was a dramatic girl who hung with the wrong crowd. No one in my family wanted to talk about it. My brother blamed me. I just felt alone, and couldn’t understand why everyone always blamed me for the bad things that happened.

I couldn’t stand that environment anymore and convinced my parents to let me move out when I was sixteen. I had friends in Salt Lake. I felt understood there. It was going to be great! But when I got there I had less to do. I couldn’t find a community theatre, and I couldn’t tutor the first graders anymore. I was involved with school stuff, but I was still a floater. All the pieces of my identity that I had successfully established were slipping away. I felt like I fit in, but only on the surface; the inside of me felt like it was dying. Like the core of me had developed some sort of leprosy and was falling off in chunks around the base of the wall while I was desperately looking for a way out.

 
Trust vs. Mistrust
Revisited

My internal leprosy left me feeling extraordinarily vulnerable and the negative thoughts in my mind eventually became dominant. I never felt safe, even in the safest of places. Vulnerability induced panic and I pushed the people I loved away from me. My anxiety was worse when I went to see my family and almost any time I spoke to my mother. I was trying to trust them again. I was trying to feel safe. But they made it so difficult, and it seemed like they thought money could make everything better.

When I was 17 my family took a trip to Hawaii. Going to an island sounded exciting and all, but I was terrified at the thought of being with them for a whole week. At the time I was working on my issues with my brother in therapy and felt that my extreme discomfort due to him raping me as a child was a good enough reason to stay home. My therapist agreed that I shouldn’t have to go because it could make things worse, but my mother said I had no choice. She was supposed to keep him away from me, but he sat next to me on almost every tourist adventure.

I didn’t want to fear my mother. I wanted to be able to go to her with my problems. I wanted her to listen and comfort me and make me feel safe. But she just kept acting like the only problem was me.

Desperate for a place to feel safe, and to feel free of my family, I got married at age 19 and hoped this would help me begin to heal. My husband, Dallin, was a wonderful man. He really listened to me. He genuinely cared about me. He loved me the way I wanted to be loved. But I was certain it was only a matter of time before he saw in me what everyone else saw-a failure, a problem, a whiney freak-and little by little I pulled away from him. I stopped confiding in him. Stopped seeking his warmth. I took what was left of my spirit and hid it away before he could turn on me. I barricaded myself inside of my head, but that wasn’t safe either because I didn’t trust myself.

 
Autonomy vs. Shame
Revisited

The medication I was on made me hallucinate and I was worried that I might kill myself by accident, so my therapist and I agreed that I should go to the psych ward at a local hospital. My stint in the loony bin made me feel strong and weak at the same time. The other residents I associated with were all great people, they had just lost a part of themselves along the way and in their efforts to regain this loss they were hurting themselves. But we were able to find strength in each other. We listened to one another and really heard what was being said. We were getting support from people we related to. There was a guy that we all called “Phil” because he looked like Phil Collins. He had bulimia and wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital until he gained 3 pounds. So we’d all cheer for him when he finished his meals and pitch in a fry or a roll or something if he had room for a few more bites. Another woman, who had suffered from bulimia for 20 years, made the same goal in group every day: I will not purge. Every day, the same goal. And every night, the same sad face saying I failed. But one night she was smiling and said proudly “I didn’t purge today.” The staff seemed indifferent. The rest of us crazies started clapping and cheering, which we got in trouble for.

These people helped me and I helped them, and I felt so empowered. Unfortunately the staff-with the exception of the security guard-just made me feel like I was even crazier and worthless than I originally thought I was. The psychiatrist who saw me told me that I had paranoid schizophrenia. He then informed me that I would never be able to work or go to school and that I would be on social security for the rest of my life.

I didn’t want to believe him, but my anxiety was so debilitating that working was very difficult. I had to call Dallin every day before work so that he could remind me why I had to go. I had a hard time going places alone and would burst into tears at random. Eventually I did stop working and accepted the fate the doctor had revealed to me. I was embarrassed by my condition and felt unworthy of Dallin, so I cheated on him in order to get him to break up with me. I needed him too much to end it myself, and thought my only option was to show him just how worthless I really was. After the divorce I went from bad relationship to bad relationship. I dated assholes who fed off of the power my dependent nature bestowed upon them.
I had to start working again because social security was so complicated, and eventually I was balancing three jobs and I realized that I was still alive, and it occurred to me for the first time that the doctor from the hospital was a moron. I started to open up again and I made friends that weren’t using my insecurities as an easy way to get laid. And I found that some people did listen, and I started to feel safe again.
 
Initiative vs. Guilt
Revisited

I decided to stop feeling bad and start taking my life back. I figured things couldn’t get worse than they had already been so the only way to go was up. By sheer coincidence I ran into an old acquaintance, Nean, who became a great friend and support to me. Nean gave me a place to stay, offered support and love, and reminded me daily why I should believe in myself.

I started trying harder to be positive and made the decision to free myself from the toxins in my life, starting with my family. I returned the car they bought me and changed my phone number, leaving a note asking them to please respect my absence as I felt unable to heal with them in my life. This decision was difficult, but it felt like the only way to really start getting my life back. With my family out of the picture I was able to explore who I was without feeling judged or feeling guilty about my decisions. I started going back to therapy and began working on putting my pieces back together. I started doing things on my own again. I didn’t need help being a human being.

I began giving myself tasks to complete, baby steps towards my ultimate goal of healing. I have since come to believe that there are no big steps, just a ridiculously large amount of baby steps. I’m still trying to do things independently instead of waiting for the world to give me what I need. I sometimes get frustrated and feel that my goals are unattainable. When I get stressed out with school I think about the doctor who said I couldn’t go to college, and sometimes I think he was right. But now when I feel defeated I think back to a poem I wrote in 2006 when I first began getting myself back:

I am the same now as I’ve always been
confused and broken
yet confident and whole
can’t quite catch sight of where I’m going
and I’m forgetting where I’ve been

I feel like I’m a walking contradiction

I look out the window in my mind
and I see her,
the mirage of what I aspire to be

as I climb the ladder to her window
I can’t help but notice some of the rungs are broken
and I wonder if it’s worth the effort
I wonder if the next step
will send me crashing to the pavement

I fear the fall
so I give up on myself once again

as I begin to descend
she comes to the window and whispers
‘I know you’ll make it’

so I keep climbing

 
Conclusion

I think this is the first time in my life when I would dare say that I passed through Erikson’s stages. I had poor balance when climbing some of the steps, but it seems the staircase came equipped with a railing. There were a few times when I had to go back a few steps to find some things that were left behind, but I made my way back up.

Now that I feel that I’m where I need to be, I think I’ll have a seat and relax in stage six for a while, taking baby-steps now and again so I don’t get lost on my way to stage seven.

Trying Not to Judge

This paper is based on personal prejudice. It was written for my Intro. to Social Work class taught by Jim Bone at Salt Lake Community College, Fall term of 2008.


Trying Not to Judge

I like to think that I’m not prejudiced towards anyone, but unfortunately that isn’t the case. I judge most people before ever speaking to them. After only a glimpse I’ve usually made up my mind about who you are and who you think I am. However, I understand that my opinion is likely to be wrong and I am open to giving people the benefit of the doubt; things are rarely permanent with me.

I find myself being mostly prejudiced towards scene kids; those lovely folks who have turned the term ‘Indie’ into some kind of obnoxious trend. I try really hard not to, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. They think that because I look like them that they know everything about me. They assume that I shop at the same stores, listen to the same music, and do all the same things as them; well, I don’t. I stopped going to concerts when I was seventeen because I couldn’t stand to look at them anymore.

I also tend to be a little prejudiced toward cowboys and the like. I grew up in a little hick town and had some pretty awful experiences there. Pretty much everyone who contributed to my life feeling unbearable was a cowboy. I feel sick to my stomach when I see them sometimes, and listening to them talk drives me crazy. Nearly every hick I’ve ever been associated with is a complete and utter moron, and every moron I meet reminds me of my brother, who is basically the Moron King.

I think my most of my actual prejudice is anxiety related. I have horrible anxiety and many groups of people make me anxious. I think sometimes it’s easier to feel angry at other people than it is to feel angry at ourselves.

This paper makes me sound like a total bitch.

Sexual Assault: Effects and Coping Strategies

This paper was written on how to cope with the emotional after-effects of a sexual assault with a focus on dealing with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.

It was written for my Writing 121 class taught by Jess Lamb at Portland Community College, in the Fall term of 2007.

*Due to blog formatting I have not posted my resources. If you would like to see them please contact me and I will forward them to you.


Sexual Assault: Effects and Coping Strategies

Based on the US Department of Justice's National Crime Victimization Survey, someone in the United States is sexually assaulted every two and a half minutes (West, Every Two and a Half Minutes, calculation based on USDOJ NCVS data). This equals approximately 24 people per hour, 576 people per day, and 210,240 people annually. The results of this survey also indicate that a third of these assaults are rape.

To understand the complexity of this issue we must first understand what sexual assault is. The United States Justice Department defines sexual assault as "rape, attempted rape, and other violent felonies that fall short of rape" (West, Every Two and a Half Minutes). An example of a felony that falls short of rape would be molestation, which is the act of forcing physical and sexual contact on another person (Merriam-Webster). However, what is considered sexual assault will vary depending on who you are asking. Some have limited its definition to "acts of sexual intercourse and penetration" (e.g. rape). In Elizabeth Paolucci’s research this definition has been extended to include inappropriate sexual comments and/or observing sexual behaviors taking place between one or more persons (20). For the purpose of this paper ‘sexual assault’ will be defined as unwanted sexual contact (i.e. rape, oral sex, molestation), as well as witnessing the aforementioned physical contacts, and/or being forced to feed anothers sexual desire against your will either physically or verbally.

I am a survivor of rape, incest, molestation, and years of verbal sexual assault. Because of my experiences I believe it is important to be aware of the emotional and physical effects of sexual assault. Understanding what is happening to the mind and body as a result of surviving this kind of trauma can help survivors gain more control over the effects of sexual assault, as well as help them on a healthier road to recovery (Ford 477). The way a person is affected by sexual assault will depend on several things including the way they were abused, their age when the event took place, their age when the abuse is first mentioned, and the response they receive from friends, family and community when the abuse is no longer a secret (Rainn.org, Incest).

While all forms of sexual assault can cause emotional damage, the effects of incest can be especially damaging. Incest is when the survivor is assaulted by a family member. In 1997 the Bureau of Justice Statistics conducted a study revealing that 34.2% of juveniles who had survived sexual assault were abused by someone in their family (Rainn.org, Sexual Assault of Children).

After going through a traumatic experience it is normal to have symptoms of depression and anxiety, as well as other emotional and physical issues. A person may be affected by one single symptom, or by several. For some these symptoms will begin almost immediately after the abuse has occurred; other people may not experience any symptoms for months, or even years after the abuse. There are some survivors who will experience these symptoms continuously over an extended period of time, while others will experience them for a prolonged period on an off-and-on basis. These responses tend to be automatic and at times will feel like they are impossible to turn off. Their intensity can be so great that they interfere with everyday life (ncptsd.gov, What is Posttraumatic Stress Disorder).

While anxiety is often experienced during a stressful situation, it can also sneak up on you from out of the blue, and it can be incredibly uncomfortable. Merriam-Webster describes anxiety as a painful uneasiness of the mind; it can make you paranoid, worried, uncertain, and scared. Anxiety can also have physical effects (known as psychosomatic responses or body memories) such as headaches and stomach aches (Rainn.org, Body Memories). Anxiety for me is almost always accompanied with nausea and a tension that seems to be leaking out from under my skin; it feels like my flesh is separating from my bones.

Psychosomatic responses related to abuse are caused by the relationship between the body and the mind. These symptoms include not only head and stomach aches, but can also cause sleeping disorders, stomach related issues such as indigestion and irritable bowel syndrome, and flu like symptoms. In 2005 I was sent to the hospital with a 103 degree fever. My body was throbbing with pain; it felt as though I had been hit by a truck. The only cause the doctors could find was stress-induced psychosomatic symptoms. Body memories may also occur during sexual activities. When this happens it can feel as though the assault is happening all over again, this can lead to feelings of anxiety and/or guilt (Rainn.org, Body Memories).

These symptoms are sometimes accompanied by depression, though depression is capable of playing the emotional villain all by itself. Depression is a continual sense of hopelessness and despair; it is a thief that robs you of the person you remember being. Living with depression makes a person feel that the weight of the world is on their shoulders, slowly crushing their worth, dignity, and purpose. Those who suffer from depression tend to lose interest in things that were once important to them (i.e. hobbies, work, social activities, etc.) It increases irritability and can make concentrating and decision making arduous tasks (Paolucci 21).

The previously mentioned effects can be intensified by the occurrence of flashbacks. The Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN) states:

"Flashbacks are when memories of past traumas feel as if they are taking place in the current moment. These memories can take many forms: dreams, sounds, smells, images, body sensations, or overwhelming emotions. This re-experience of the trauma often seems to come from nowhere and, therefore, blurs the lines between the past and present... Some flashbacks are mild and brief... others may be powerful and last a long time."

It is not always obvious that a flashback is taking place and the person may only "feel faint or dissociate" (Rainn.org, Flashbacks).

Flashbacks may seem to happen more frequently during the time of year when the trauma took place. This is known as an "anniversary reaction" and can make it difficult to sleep or focus. This can cause intensified anxiety, irritability, and the desire to avoid persons, objects, and/or locations that remind you of the trauma. These symptoms usually last between a couple of days to a couple of weeks. If the issue persists it is recommended to seek the help of a professional to help you work through them. Over time these symptoms generally tend to work their way out of your system (Hamblen, Anniversary Reactions).

Usually all of the above mentioned symptoms will go away after a few months of experiencing them. However, for some they will continue for months, years, or for the person’s entire life. If this occurs it is likely that the person has developed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). People with PTSD often feel that they are not normal, and often engage in activities that can be more damaging than helpful. These activities include self harm, drug use, alcohol abuse, promiscuity, and increased suicidality (Ford 475).

This disorder often causes those who have it to dissociate, sometimes to an extreme. In April 2005 I had an episode where I was so detached it was as though I was sitting in a corner watching myself from across the room, as well as sitting at the top of a tall set of bleachers in the back of my mind. During the episode I cut my legs with a razor; while my hand was dragging the razor across my skin I was telling myself to stop and trying to put the razor down, but I couldn’t. It was as if I had no control over my body. It was so surreal, the only reason I knew it wasn’t a dream is because of the evidence on my thighs the next morning.

Julian Ford states that PTSD "involve[s] a loss of control over ones memory... [such as] unwanted, persistent, and fragmented memories" (480). The intensity of PTSD will differ from person to person. According to the National Center for PTSD (NCPTSD) the effects of this disorder will eventually de-escalate and even disappear. However, approximately one third of those with PTSD will always have symptoms (What is Posttraumatic Stress Disorder).

The emotional aftermath following sexual assault is difficult to handle, but the effects are treatable. On the road to recovery it is important to use appropriate coping skills. Many people will deal with their trauma by trying to numb themselves with drugs and alcohol. Some survivors become promiscuous and begin experimenting with their sexuality at an early age (Paolucci 21). Others will engage in acts of self-harm. Laura E. Gibson, Ph.D. defines self-harm as "the deliberate, direct destruction of body tissue that results in tissue damage" (ncptsd.gov, Self Harm). This includes, but is not limited to cutting and burning the skin, as well as eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia. These negative coping skills can result in addiction which can make the road to recovery more complicated and more difficult; and in some cases can increase the occurrence of anxiety and depression.

Because these methods of coping can be addictive it may be necessary to seek treatment for them as well as for the unwanted effects of abuse. Ford and her colleagues, Eileen Russo and Sharon Mallon, are finding that integrating the treatment for Substance Use Disorders and PTSD can be quite helpful. Using a twelve-step recovery program similar to that of Alcoholics Anonymous, they are able to help people deal with the effects of their trauma and of their addictions (Ford).

For dealing with symptoms, both of abuse and negative copings, it is encouraged to seek the help of a professional. This can make many people uncomfortable as it puts you in a vulnerable situation. If you decide to seek professional help, remember that not all therapists are the same, just like not all survivors are the same. It is okay to try out several therapists until you find the one that works for you. I saw at least five different therapists before I found one that worked for me. In the beginning it seemed like I would never find one I was comfortable with, but it was well worth the search.

Seeing a therapist for the first time can be very intimidating and, for some, embarrassing. Remind yourself that people see therapists for a variety of reasons; it does not mean that you're crazy or abnormal. Services are confidential.

There is also the option of group therapy. This can be very helpful in reminding a person that they are not alone. There are a lot of survivors out there and looking to one another for support and encouragement can help a lot.

If you feel that your symptoms are really extreme, talk to your therapist to see if spending some time at an in-patient facility would be beneficial for you. Again, these services are confidential.

As stated earlier, many people feel uncomfortable or ashamed for seeking professional help. If this is one of the worries on your mind, remember that it takes a lot of courage and inner strength to seek help; instead of feeling embarrassed you should feel proud of yourself.

Sometimes professional help is not an option due to cost and/or a lack of information. Many mental health providers can work with you to set up payment plans, some even offer assistance programs that allow you to be treated free of charge. If you are having difficulty locating a mental health provider in your area, RAINN offers a search engine on their website, www.rainn.org that may be able to assist you. RAINN also offers a crisis hotline, 1-800-656-HOPE, available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. They have recently launched an internet crisis hotline which can be accessed via their website Monday-Friday from noon to midnight, and Saturday & Sunday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., Eastern Time. The benefit to taking advantage of these hotlines is that they are free, confidential, and allow you to be anonymous.

Whether you choose to seek professional help or not, there are many things you can do to gain more control over your symptoms and decrease their severity. You can practice positive coping skills like exercising, keeping a journal, learning a new hobby or skill, etc. Maintaining a healthy diet can also help decrease the occurrence of depression (West, Self Care).

In the book Tuesdays With Morrie, the author talks with his old college professor, Morrie, every Tuesday for several months. They talk about coming to terms with life and the things that happen throughout its course. On the sixth Tuesday they discuss how Morrie handled his most troubling moments,

"'These were horrifying times,' [Morrie] said, and his first emotions were horror, fear, anxiety. But once he recognized the feel of those emotions, their texture, their moisture, the shiver down the back...he was able to say, 'Okay this is fear. Step away from it" (Albom 102-103).

His philosophy was that exposing yourself to emotions and allowing them to penetrate you completely is the only way to truly have control over them.

Morrie's empowering tactic can also be beneficial when learning how to manage your response to trauma memories. This tactic does not mean that a person must submit to the memories, but allows them to recognize what is happening and work through it. I use this tactic when I experience anxiety attacks. It doesn’t always make them go away, but I have found that it makes it easier for me to handle them. They are less intense and don’t last as long.

The road to healing is not an easy road to walk down, especially alone. Building a support system of people you trust can be helpful also, as these people can help pick you up when you fall. Above all else, remember that it’s okay to feel, okay to cry, and more than possible to heal.

Don't Fear the Reaper

This paper was written in response to the following questions: What is your reaction to the question “Is suicide an ultimate choice or the ultimate cop-out?” If you found out you had one week left to live, how would you spend that time? Be specific. What do your choices say about your values and what is important to you? How does that compare to how you live your life now? Knowing what you do, what changes would you make in how you live your life now, if any? When do you feel most alive? When do you experience life the most fully? What happens, if anything, to blunt this feeling of aliveness?

It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.



Don't Fear the Reaper

When I was 20 a friend of mine from high school chose to end her life. In the years that I had known Leslie she was dealing with an intense internal struggle. She felt lost, alone, and seemed to be hurting terribly. She had secrets and was certain that sharing them would be worse than keeping them inside. She tried therapy, she tried alcohol, she tried self-mutilation, and none of it freed her from the pain she felt inside. After exhausting all of the options she felt comfortable considering, she had one more idea, and that was to end her current existence. I was saddened that Leslie felt death was the only path left for her to take, but at the same time I felt a huge sense of relief.

My feelings regarding Leslie’s death (and suicide in general) may be considered callous by some. I don’t believe that suicide is a selfish decision. On the contrary, I think the survivor’s of suicide are most often the selfish parties. I remember being at Leslie’s funeral and hearing people ask “How could she do this to me/us?” and all I could think was, “This had nothing to do with you, it was her life and her choice.”

I think people typically kill themselves because they feel that they have no other options. Sometimes the idea is considered for a long period of time, sometimes it’s a choice that is made in the moment, but that’s how all big decisions are. They’re either thought out with great intensity or are made in a split second, and we will experience the consequences regardless of how the decision was made.

Suicide, for me, very much resembles the concept of moving to another state. It removes us from our current life and takes us somewhere new where the people we see everyday can no longer see us or touch us. How practical of a decision this move might be is all a matter of perspective, but the only person whose opinion really matters is the one doing the moving.

When I told my friends I was moving from Utah to Oregon no one was very enthusiastic about the idea. I was hoping people would respond positively, getting excited that I finally had the courage to go somewhere I had always wanted to go. It felt freeing for me to be doing something that had appealed to me for so long. Rather than supporting me, most people whined about how I was leaving them and how selfish/unfair that was. While it was nice to know I would be missed I was hurt that I had so little support. My move had nothing to do with the people I was leaving behind. I wasn’t running away from anyone or trying to hurt feelings; I was simply doing what I felt I needed to do for myself. I left one existence in hopes that my next experience would be a better one. My leaving resulted in the actual demise of some friendships. There are people I have loved dearly whom I may never see again. I may still be breathing, but my absence in these people’s lives is not unlike death: I left them, there was nothing they could do about it, and my absence in their lives may be permanent.

Regardless of whether or not a suicide has been thought out, the decision is generally based on the desire to leave one existence for something better. For most of us life is more desirable than death, so we choose to continue living. However, for some of us life just isn’t the journey we were looking for and death seems like a better option. Because no one knows with any certainty what happens after we die we have no way of knowing if death is a positive or a negative experience for the deceased. Maybe death is simply a passageway to a new life. Perhaps all of the people we have lost in our lives are just hanging out, having a great time, making new friends, and just living in a world similar to our own. Maybe there is no pain in that life, maybe there is. It’s also possible that nothing happens after we die, that we simply cease to exist. My own personal belief is that death will be whatever experience we desire. For some the concept of Heaven and Hell will be a reality. For others the beauty of reincarnation will grant them the opportunity to experience life in a whole new way. I do not assume that a new existence will be easier (though it may be) but it is a chance to do things again and do them differently, hopefully with more positive results than the previous experience.

I should mention that I am more comfortable with suicides that came about after the person had tried finding other methods of dealing with their current existence versus it being a quick decision. I think it’s normal for people to make quick, irrational decisions during times of emotional transition, but for most of us those irrational decisions will become regrets or opportunities for change. I think we all have the right to re-evaluate the choices we’ve made and correct the ones we view as mistakes and feel that suicide deprives us of that re-evaluation.

As I ponder this topic more deeply I am finding that the only problem I really have with suicide is when the deceased parties leave a note indicating that someone else is to blame for their decision. I consider that rude. Blaming other people for one person’s decision has always irked me a little (though I will admit I have been hypocritical with this belief at times). I remember being in Ninth Grade and I had invited a friend of mine to a party where she proceeded to flirt mercilessly with the boy I liked even after I let her know it was bothering me. She chose to disregard my feelings and continued to flirt with my crush. I was angry and hurt, but I knew it wasn’t the worst thing that would ever happen. Regardless, I needed a few days to calm down and gather my thoughts before I would be comfortable talking to my friend about the incident. She was relentless and began harassing me, completely ignoring my desire to cool off before having a discussion. About two days later I came to school and felt like I walked right into a witch hunt.

Everyone in my social circle was calling me a bitch and no one would say what I had done. I later found out my friend had taken a bottle of Ibuprofen in an attempt to end her life, apparently because I was angry with her. Even then I didn’t understand how I was responsible for her suicide attempt; I wasn’t there when she tried to kill herself and I certainly didn’t force a bottle of pills down her throat. The fact that anyone would hold me at fault was frustrating to me as the decision had solely been my friend’s choice, and she certainly had other options for dealing with her emotions about the situation.

We each have the option to choose our own feelings or behaviors. That may be a difficult reality for some people to accept, but I believe it to be true. I could have killed myself in my adolescence; I even tried a few times. I was a depressed, angry teen. I blamed a lot of other people and situations for my misery. But my misery was always just that, my misery, and how I responded to that misery was my decision, no one else's. With this being the way I view my own life, I also hold others accountable for their choices. We may be influenced by external factors but ultimately how we deal with our circumstances is our own personal choice and our choice alone.

While I would not consider myself to be suicidal I do feel that it is entirely possible that at some point in time I will choose to end my own life. I’ve never really had the desire to live well into old age and I think there’s a possibility that I’ll get bored with life at some point. I do not have set plans to kill myself; I just consider it one of my options. I would not want the people I leave behind to think there was something they could have done, or view my death as some tragedy. I would hope that my decision to move forward into a new existence would be supported, just as I hoped that my moving to a new state would be.

If I knew I was going to die in the immediate future it would be difficult for me to inform people of my fate. I wouldn’t want to hear the disappointment or fear in their voices. I wouldn’t want them to focus on the short time we had left together. I would want them to focus on how much we’ve enjoyed our journey together, and to remember that there is still so much beauty in the world even if I’m not there to share it with. Despite my nervousness, I would want people to know that I was dying. It seems like every time someone dies people think about all of the things they wish they’d said. I don’t want the people I love to regret anything when I’m gone, so I would tell them I was dying and I would throw a party in lieu of my funeral.

Ideally this party would start out with The Roast of Ajé, where everyone who wants to can take turns laughing, joking, or being serious about why our journey together was an eventful and beautiful one. There will be laughter and tears, and no subject will be taboo, just good old-fashioned honesty and emotions. After my friends had finished sharing what they felt they needed to share I would then take the time to tell everyone how much they have meant to me. I imagine this party would probably need to last at least one full day as I have been blessed with many people who have come into my life and made it more amazing than I ever thought it could be.

When all thoughts had been exchanged it would be time to just hang out and mingle. In my life I’ve introduced many people to one another and some beautiful, amazing friendships have blossomed from those introductions. At my party everyone has to leave with a new phone number and a potential new friend. I will also be giving away my possessions at this party; this will be done as outlined in my will. If something I own was a gift from someone else they can have it back if they so choose. Everything else will pretty much be up for grabs, however if multiple people really want the same thing there will be a Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament to decide who gets what. These material possessions and newly formed friendships will be one of the many ways in which my memory will live on.

In the few days prior to my party I would do whatever sounded exciting in the moment. I would actually go rock climbing or adventure searching with my friends instead of doing homework. I would finally get around to checking out the swinger’s club because I’ve always been curious about that type of place. I would do stand up one more time without caring if the audience was put off by my vagina jokes.

I would try my best to make sure everyone knew that love is my life’s philosophy and that there was no hatred in my heart for anyone, including those who have wronged me. I would try to shout from the rooftops that we all make mistakes, but that nothing we do makes us unworthy of love. I would hug every person that was willing to accept my warm embrace.

This final week would probably be the most alive I will ever feel because I will be doing everything I can that appeals to me. As it stands currently I sometimes feel so alive that I’m quite certain I invented the very idea of living. I have these moments where I’m up for anything and every second has the potential to be a new adventure. It’s an intense natural high, and it gets more intense with every laugh, smile or hug that is exchanged.

I really enjoy the idea of living in the moment. If someone presents me with an idea that sounds even remotely fun and I’m not committed to any obligations I want to enjoy the ride and see where this random adventure might take me. Maybe it will only last an hour, maybe I’ll be gone for three days. It doesn’t matter because all that matters is the moment as it is happening.

This natural high gets blocked by my mind finding things to worry about. I’ll convince myself that if I go to a party with someone I won’t be able to get home if I want to leave before they do. Or I worry that I’ll be overwhelmed with fun and my having-a-good-time tears will leak out and everyone will respond to me like I am freaking out. Sometimes I go for days without having my mind get in the way of things, but often I go for weeks with it bringing me down. When I try to pull myself out of a slump I run into obnoxious obstacles. For example, it took me a long time to get the courage to karaoke. Singing in front of people has always made me super nervous and I get a psychosomatic frog stuck in my throat. But I finally decided “who cares?!” and decided to start going regularly. Within one week I got a cold and wasn’t able to sing for over a month.

What I should do when being faced with these obstacles is find something else to focus on that is equally satisfying, but I generally just get pissed off and annoyed. I’m not sure if this is because I am easily frustrated or if it’s because these obstacles seem to happen with 90% of the things I feel excited about doing. I sometimes wonder if this is just the way the Universe is trying to help me discover my true passions, because if I really love something little obstacles shouldn’t get in my way.

This assignment, as well as this class, has had me thinking in a different way. I am still a bit frustrated when obstacles present themselves, but over these past few weeks I’ve been trying to ride every wave I can catch. If one plan fails I’m looking for another option. If there are no other options that sound appealing I’m working harder at appreciating what’s right in front of me. I’ve also been re-evaluating my priorities. In the last few years that I have been in school I have sacrificed my social life almost completely. I very rarely make time for the people and things that make my life worthwhile because I’m so concerned with homework and grades. I think it’s important to take school seriously, but not so seriously that the other areas of my life suffer. My grades are good enough that taking a break from assignments to nurture the rest of my world is an okay thing to do. I’m trying to realize that getting a B won’t kill me, and that if I were to die next week I’d rather have spent at least a little time with the people I love instead of all my time in front of my computer. This is my life, I may only have one shot at it, and I want it to be the most exciting experience I could possibly have.

I'm Loved Because I Love

This paper was written in response to the following questions: Discuss what is lovable about you, providing specific examples. Why would another person want to love you? Why are you a “great deal” for the right person? What is your most lovable quality? What are some ways you could change to become more lovable? What are some important barriers within you that prevent you from loving others fully? What about the barriers that prevent others from fully loving you? What can you do about both of these kinds of barriers? What are you willing to do?

It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.


I’m Loved Because I Love, or at Least I Try

For as long as I can remember I have noticed the little quirks I have, thinking, “If someone loved me they would think this is so cute.” Like the way my sneezes always seem to come in pairs or groups. Or the silly way I run that looks more like a waddling shuffle. When I’m concentrating really hard my tongue sticks out of my mouth and to the side. And when my loose hairs fall out in the shower I stick them to the wall until I’m finished. I can say the alphabet backwards, I dress in a way that some people call ‘extreme’, and I sometimes combine words when I speak because I’m thinking too far ahead. I don’t think any of these things make me more or less loveable, but I know if I was in love with someone I would notice those things about them and smile. Perhaps me noticing my own quirks is proof that I have loved myself all along, despite what my illusions made me think.

If my quirks are loved because a bigger love for me already exists, what caused the bigger love? That is a question I have asked myself more times than I can count. I have allowed myself to be in relationships that were built on conditional love. Men that loved me as long as I followed their rules and refused to think for myself, friends that loved me because they had something to gain. I have also had love for which I felt undeserving. A lover that cared enough to hold my hand when I felt too weak and scared to be alone, and later loved me enough to let me go because it was the only way I could stand on my own two feet.

A few years ago I decided to really look at the trend in my adult relationships and realized that except for my ex-husband I had never felt fully loved by another person. I have been in relationships with some really wonderful people who cared for me deeply. However, in most of these relationships it seems both myself and my partner were having a difficult time loving ourselves. This caused us to only show parts of ourselves and despite our best efforts we were only able to love part of the other person. This realization led me to ponder the type of partner I would want in a romantic relationship, and also what kind of a partner I would want to be. So I’ve learned about my boundaries, and I know what my cute, little quirks are, but I’ve never asked myself “why should someone love me?” and now seems like a good time to ask.

I feel like the best way to do this would be to bake a cake out of myself, eat it, and then critique the flavor. For this experiment I will use the following recipe:

Ingredients:
2 cups: Compassion, Honesty, Love, Communication, Strength of the soul & Fascination with the Universe
1 ½ cup: Desire to grow, Frequent reality checks, Independence, & Self respect
1 ¼ cup: Humor, Confusion, & Intelligence
1 cup: Various hobbies, Fear, Morbid fascinations, Inner child, & Wit
½ cup: Insecurity, Hopelessness, & Anger
1 dash: Evil
3 high-fives
Random dollops of Awesome

Directions:
Mix all ingredients together. Pour into a heart shaped pan with slight imperfections. Bake at 300 degrees. There is no need to set a timer; it will come out of the oven when it’s ready.


I know that not everyone will like my cake. Some people won’t even want to try it. But I also know that for some folks my cake will be the most delicious cake they have ever eaten. With every bite they will love my cake just a little bit more. Even if they get a bite with a little too much anger they’ll keep eating, knowing that the good stuff is only a few crumbs away.

There’s enough compassion, honesty, and love in my cake to ensure they’ll always get at least a little taste, even in a fear filled piece. I spent years letting fear get in the way of my ability to communicate and I’ve worked very hard to be able to tell the people I love how I really feel about any given situation. I’m able to do this even if there’s a hint of insecurity on my end. My ability to be honest and communicate my feelings makes it so that my partner doesn’t have to guess how I’m feeling or what I need from them. They know exactly what kind of cake they signed up to eat and are aware that each piece varies slightly.

There have been many people who have eaten portions of my cake, but few people could handle a lifetime supply. Therefore, if I am to accurately evaluate why I am loveable my best source of information would probably be my current relationship, as my current partner has eaten more Ajé cake than anyone else. This cakeaholic is named Eldon; we have known each other for almost six years and have been in a relationship for eighteen months. He is best friends with my little brother and has been considered a part of my family for years now. I even considered him my ‘other brother’ for a long period of time, so I never felt any reason to put up walls. Because I felt no need to impress him I was free to be myself completely.

We started working together a few years ago and ended up hanging out all the time. He would come over while I watched movies and did homework or made crafts. We talked about anything and everything. Sometimes we made dinner or went on adventures. We gave each other advice about dating and living. We never got sick of each other and we got along great. It took almost a year to realize we were in love-ten days before I moved 800 miles away.

Fortunately the physical distance between us did not affect his craving and appreciation for Ajé cake. He has since moved here and, despite obnoxious differences in our schedules, our relationship is doing fine. I think I know most of the reasons why Eldon fell in love with me and continues choosing to nurture that love, though I don’t sit and think about it very often. In fact, I think it’s the first love I’ve been able to simply accept.

Eldon loves me because I am a compassionate person. I feel intense empathy for people around me who are suffering in any way. I care so much about people that I have to limit my exposure to their difficult circumstances because it is so easy for me to get lost in them. I am lovable because I care so much about everyone feeling loved that I could spontaneously combust into hug sprinkles at any moment.

I think my most lovable quality is that I am always striving to grow and learn more about myself. I’m aware that I am always changing and feel it is my responsibility to know where I stand and what I need in any situation (or at least be trying to know those things). I think it is important to let him know when I am feeling particularly strong or insecure. There have been times where I have questioned our relationship and if this is the path I want to be taking. I have always been verbal and honest with him when I am evaluating my journey. My desire to know myself and my honesty with what I discover are also reasons why I am loveable.

Sometimes the way I contradict myself contributes to my lovability. For instance, I claim to dislike children because I don’t want any of my own, but when I’m around kids I will lose myself in their world and play with them until we have to part. Or the way I can be so happy that it brings me tears, sometimes to the point that I ache because there is so much joy in me that it can’t be contained. In the movie American Beauty the character Ricky comments, “Sometimes there is so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it and my heart is just going to cave in.” This is one of many phrases that could be used to describe me, and while it can be overwhelming at times I believe this is one of my most loveable characteristics.

Among the other things mentioned I am also a very creative person. I enjoy making all sorts of things, from clothing to home décor. When I create something new, or just get a good idea, I get ridiculously excited and somewhat resemble a happy child on Christmas morning. I’m also a super huge movie buff and can often dominate the ‘Name that Movie’ game after only having seen the preview. I imagine these are also loveable traits considering that Eldon fell in love with me when we were mainly hanging out in my bedroom talking while I watched movies and made crafty things.

Now that I’ve established why I’m awesome and totally loveable I suppose I should take a look at the reasons why I sometimes have difficulty believing in the love others have for me. The simplest answer for me would be to just blame it on the PTSD I’ve been living with for years, but I no longer feel that I can simply blame my disorder for anything. I have worked long and hard at overcoming my stress and anxiety issues, and while my diligence and success at this endeavor is surely a loveable characteristic, I still struggle from time to time. I pride myself on being a strong person and when my stress begins to show itself I get angry and feel weak. I believe that part of being strong means allowing myself to feel my emotions even when they are undesirable, but I have a hard time remembering that in the moment. In these moments I feel a lot of shame and embarrassment and often am convinced that any witness to my behavior will no longer want anything to do with me.

In the past I’ve allowed myself to be in relationships with people who have tried to alter me via manipulation and mockery. I had a tendency of dating men who were either controlling or looking for someone who needed to be taken care of. The controlling ones started fights when I tried to nurture my independence and the care-takers threw tantrums because they felt that they were no longer needed. Basically, I have a history of being insulted or accused if I try to have a relationship with myself outside of my couple hood. I am still working on undoing the conditioning that occurred during this span of relationships and sometimes I find myself asking Eldon for permission to go to karaoke or out with a friend. He always reminds me I don’t need to ask him, and if I start talking myself out of going he does his best to talk me back into it because he knows I need to nurture myself. When I stick with my plan and go on an Ajé date he does not insult me or whine, and he’s always ready to hear about my adventure when I return.

I am working on feeling more comfortable at embracing my independent side without separating myself from my relationship. When my nerves kick in and tell me Eldon is going to throw a tantrum or be a jerk if I want to do something, I remind myself that I was independent when this relationship started and nobody involved expected that to change. Neither of us needs the other for survival and because this relationship is based on honest choices, being who we are is the best way to be. I think all I can do at this point is to continue being honest with my needs, wants and feelings (without apologizing or asking for permission) and trust that over time my mind will become reconditioned and I will no longer expect to be rejected just for being myself.

Another challenge I experience from time to time is having an intense response to stimuli when it is first introduced. If I have a plan and something changes my initial reaction is often to be upset. I can usually get myself back to a functioning state of mind within a few moments either by breathing or doing a small task that I can control (like alphabetizing movies, or walking out of the room and coming back in). However, there are times where my attempts are unsuccessful or half-assed and it takes me hours or sometimes days, to chill out. This reminds me of the person I used to be.

While I prefer to deny her existence, this old me is still one of my integrated personalities; we can call her Ashley. Ashley was/is quite addicted to depression and voiding herself of responsibility. As is typical for an addict, what is hurting her is also what comforts her and she is afraid to let go completely. She has already given up her dominance in order to let me grow this much, and if she continues to let me grow she could disappear completely. This scares us both. I have already proven to myself that I am capable of changing my thoughts and behaviors in ways that will enhance my life, and I know that taking ownership of Ashley’s thoughts and behaviors is the only way I can help her and have more control over my moods/reactions.

That level of responsibility terrifies me; it makes me feel exposed and repulsive. I remember when Ashley was my dominant personality; I was very unpleasant to be around and several people told me so. I’ve reached a point where I can take accountability for her past behavior, but when she acts out now it’s so embarrassing that I want to pretend it didn’t happen. I keep saying to myself “I am not that girl anymore” but that simply isn’t the truth. She may not be my dominant personality, but she is still a part of me. I know that I cannot help her until I can say “Ashley is a part of me and I love her.” I guess I should start saying that into the mirror when she shows her face, even if it’s hard. I’ve been meaning to hang up positive thoughts throughout my house but keep procrastinating on the delusion that Ashley needs those thoughts, but I don’t. Ashley used affirmations all the time and they helped her immensely. I’ve always given her credit for that idea, but she needed affirmations because she’s depressed. I am not depressed therefore I don’t need positive thoughts every where. But the truth is I still feel Ashley’s pain even when I ignore it, and her affirmations help me even if I’m already feeling good.

Eldon is aware of this internal struggle and accepts it as a part of me. But his love for that part of me can not grow if my own love for that part can not grow. I want to grow. I want to love myself completely so other people can love me completely as well. I want to stop hiding from myself so I can stop hiding from others. I want to start embracing the parts of me I’ve tried to leave behind. It’s time for me to take some initiative. Today I’m going to start by decorating my house with positive thoughts. Perhaps I’ll even bake a cake.

Life is a Battlefield

This paper was written in response to questions about significant turning points in my life. It was written for the Psychology 240 class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Spring term 2011. The theme of this class was Personal Growth and Awareness.



Life is a Battlefield, Autonomy is the Reward

When I was twenty-one I took the car my parents had purchased for me and drove it the 95 miles from Salt Lake City, Utah to my home town of College Ward, Utah. When I arrived I left the car in the driveway, unlocked, with a key and a note on the driver’s seat. The note informed them that I was cutting off all contact from that point forward. I asked them to please respect my decision as I needed to heal the emotional wounds created during my adolescence. I had attempted to heal with them in my life but we were a disconnected (71) family and I found myself falling apart whenever I would speak to them. To me it felt that I was in a battle for sanity and they were the enemy that was helping to destroy me.

I had thought long and hard about this choice. It was difficult to leave my family, but I had been contemplating the decision for years. They didn’t understand me or my emotional struggles. I was sexually assaulted multiple times in my youth and when I was around them the wounds felt fresh. A family member was one of my assailants; they seemed to care more about him than me. No one ever brought up what he did to me, but they were always talking about how I was an emotional wreck that didn’t make sense. I was the only person who seemed to understand that there was a correlation between my abuse and my psychological issues. Not only did the abuse play into my crumbling mental state, but so did their lack of understanding.

Leaving them allowed me the freedom to look within myself and find ways to heal. I didn’t second-guess myself as often and started to believe that I had a right to my emotions. I was even beginning to understand that I had a choice about how to feel. I realized that negative events in my life may have helped mold me, but who I became was my decision. At the age of 23 I finally had the courage to do something I had wanted to do for more than a decade; I moved to Portland, Oregon.

While this experience helped me grow into a more independent person there was still one thing I was really struggling with-anger. I liked the person I was becoming and felt more and more like me everyday, but when I looked at the roadmap of my life I was furious at the route I had needed to take. It seemed unnecessary to be abused and belittled over and over again so that I could struggle to appreciate my inner self. Surely there must have been an easier way that didn’t involve so much victimization, from others as well as myself. I became an expert at blaming my past, and my mother, for every inconvenience I experienced. For example, one day I was getting ready to leave work and my car was dead. I was pissed, not at the car or the current situation, but at my mother whom I hadn’t spoken to in 2 years. I knew that my stupid car wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t had to give my old car back to my mom. I wouldn’t have needed to give the car back if I hadn’t had to cut off my parents. I wouldn’t have needed to cut off my parents if they responded to me better. And they wouldn’t have needed to respond to me better if they had kept me from getting abused in the first place. (My mother knew about the abuse earlier on and didn’t respond in a nurturing way so my anger was more directed at her than my father). So obviously it was my mom’s fault that my car died when I was 23 because of things that happened to me when I was 6.

It was around this time that I realized I would never heal until I could forgive them, which I was absolutely against. Fortunately over the years I developed what I now call ‘the rope’. The rope is what I imagine some folks would call intuition. It is a pull I feel at my core that presents itself when I need to change and it seems to lead me where I need to go. I felt the rope when I cut off my parents and I was feeling it again. It was time to confront my anger, and my time was running out. I found out via my cousin that my father had been diagnosed with Melanoma and it was terminal. At first this did not make a difference to me. Everyone dies, and I shouldn’t have to reopen my wounds because of a natural event. I ignored the entire situation for months.

I underestimated the persistence of my rope. Every day the pull got stronger, and stronger, until I knew my only option was to go back to Utah and confront the demons that remained within me. My goal was to be there for one year, and to stay true to myself. I was there for me, not to prove anything to anyone. It was hard to stay focused because not only was I angry but I also had to deal with intense fear. Even though I wasn’t there to prove anything I wanted my parents, especially my mom, to know that I am Ajé Summerly and there is nothing wrong with me.

The first time I spoke to my dad it was over the phone and it was hard. I had never heard him cry before, but he was dying and it’s probably difficult to separate oneself from the feelings of loss. That was the day I found out that my dad didn’t know about the abuse from my childhood, he only knew about the abuse that happened later, which he responded well to. All of the hate I had for him disappeared in that moment, we had finally connected, and I ached for the time we had lost.

When I spoke to my mom I was terrified. Most of my family issues were with her, so I met her in a public place where things couldn’t get too ugly. I wore thin straps so she could see my tattoos, I ordered beer, and I said “fuck” more times than I can count. Looking back it wasn’t the classiest way to present myself, but at least she finally realized that I was not the little, silent, Mormon girl she had wanted me to be. Before leaving I vocalized all of my angry feelings. I allowed her one hug and then told her to her face that I never wanted to see her again.

A few months passed and I received a text stating that my father was in the hospital and they didn’t think he had much time left. With a lot of support from friends and the people at work I mustered the courage to visit him in the hospital. It had only been 4 years, but the chemo had aged him terribly. The strong, independent man I remembered was now a withered bag of bones. His mustache was still fabulous though. It was a bit overwhelming being at the hospital because many of my relatives were also there. They had also viewed me as an emotional wreck during my youth and I wasn’t sure what they had been told about my absence. But I decided it wasn’t about me anymore. I spent some alone time with my dad telling him about the crime shows I was currently watching that I thought he would like. Then I broke down and couldn’t stop apologizing for letting my issues with my mother affect our relationship. He told me something I hope I will never forget, “you have to do what you have to do in order to survive”. He had forgiven me.

As I was leaving the hospital that night I tried to converse with my mother viewing her as a woman who was about to lose the love of her life. She was scared and heartbroken and it wasn’t the place for my anger to reveal itself. I understand now that is known as mindfulness (81). It was uncomfortable, but she needed a hug and I could not deprive her of something so simple. During that embrace she told me something I had wanted to hear for years, “I am so sorry.”

I went home that night and spent a couple of days trying to soak all of this in. I made it back to the hospital the night my father died and was even holding his hand as he passed. I asked if I could speak at his funeral and found myself recalling happy memories that I had forgotten along the way. I even arranged it so that everyone could take a shot of Pepsi at the luncheon that followed, as Pepsi was my dad’s favorite drink.

If I thought leaving my parents was difficult, coming back to them was twice as scary. What I learned was worth the struggle. I realized for the first time that my parents were simply people. They may have fucked up along the way, but everyone does. I made the mistake of assuming my parents should know everything and should have been able to respond to me in the ways I needed them to. Looking back I think they would have been more willing to help me if I had been able to articulate what I was feeling. But none of us were expecting that our lives would turn out this way, and none of us had the tools needed to fix the damage. Both of my parents had grown up with injunctions (75) telling them that speaking out about emotions was wrong, so we were all just wandering around hoping that things would just magically get better. It saddens me that it took so much extra pain for us to heal; there’s a good chance I would still be avoiding my family if my father hadn’t become ill. I suppose that isn’t the issue though. As my dad used to say, “It is what it is.”

Leaving my family and coming back to them were both intense experiences that helped me grow and get closer to becoming the person I envision. Because of those decisions I gained emotional independence, also known as autonomy (71). To me, being emotionally independent means that I decide who I am and how I feel about it, and don’t depend on other people to decide those things. It also means taking responsibility for me, throughout the course of my life, including things I did/thought before discovering my independence, because those events helped lead me to my current state. It also means that I can love myself for who I am even if I don’t fit the expectations of others.

I know that I like myself, but there is still a part of me who fears that my autonomy will not last and one day I will just fall apart. Sometimes I find myself comparing my successes and appearance to the successes and appearance of others. This isn’t a daily thing with me, but when those comparative thoughts get in my head I lose sight of myself until they pass. It’s difficult to be my own person when I convince myself I am supposed to live up to the expectations of other people. I assume their opinions differ from mine and I often feel like I am required to explain myself to everybody. I know this isn’t true, and I’m getting better at dealing with my inner critic (81), but I would prefer for these thoughts to go away completely.

If there is anything I could change about my past it would be for my young self to know that I had a choice about how to feel and how to respond to any situation. I spent years living without this knowledge and made many decisions that resulted in a more difficult life. As a child one of the messages I chose to receive from my parents is that I don’t have a right to my emotions. I developed PTSD in my youth and acted out emotionally often. I was always told that I was dramatic and exaggerated things and I was never taken seriously. I still feel like people do not take me seriously, and I often second guess my opinion because maybe my views are exaggerated or wrong. When I get flustered I immediately feel like I am a giant screw up and am not capable of dealing with whatever is happening. This way of thinking is something I would like to change as it leads to insecurities and loneliness, not to mention that it triggers my inner critic and leaves me vulnerable to comparative thoughts.

When I am being truly honest with myself I can admit that I am doing a fabulous job being me. The parts of me that are still hurting are smaller than they have ever been which is even more of a reason to nurture them. It’s not difficult to overlook them when I know things are getting easier every day. Most of the people I interact with know who I am and accept/love that person regardless of how many aspects there are to my personality. It’s people I don’t know, or people I knew in my past that I get the most insecure around. My current long (but getting shorter) term goal is to go to my 10 year high school reunion next summer. Not only do I plan to go, but I intend to go as myself without feeling that I have something to prove. I’ve learned the thing I find the most empowering about being independent is that I can do what I want and be happy. Fuck society’s expectations. I want to go to my reunion and be proud of who I am.

As a child I was given a life script which taught me that success is measured by aesthetics- nice house, expensive clothes, shiny car, tons of material possessions, and a respectable outward appearance in every way. I was also taught that speaking about serious issues was not appropriate. My family has generations of silence about who knows what. If it could be ugly or look bad in any way it gets buried in the closet with all the other skeletons. Growing up I did not agree with the life script I had been given and experienced many injunctions designed to eliminate my worth as an individual and convince me that I would never be good enough unless the whole world approved of me. However, as I’ve grown I have learned that the script I was given is open to interpretation. Maybe the people I grew up with would look at my life as though I am a failure, but there are plenty of people who would view my life as a success. I do what I love, I am who I am, and I generally stay true to myself even if someone else thinks me foolish or embarrassing.

I am fairly sure that I had these same ideas during my adolescence. I remember being my own person, and feeling like that’s what we were all trying to do. It wasn’t worth it to give each other grief. But over time I was broken down. I could say I was broken by my family, my church, or my peers. I could blame it on a plethora of experiences. But in order to fully come into my autonomy I will have to take accountability for this loss. I did not know I had a choice, but I’m the one who gave up on me back then. There is no possible way that someone could take my beliefs from me. They are mine. They have always been mine. They are inside of me and cannot be stolen. I didn’t know that then, but I know it now.

I could still argue that it would have been nice to just be accepted as I was, regardless of how I differed from others. But if I wouldn’t have experienced opposition I may never have come to appreciate the person who is typing these words. I wouldn’t know that I was strong enough to survive the psychological beatings. I would rather suffer and watch my strength unfold than live a life that didn’t challenge me to grow.

I'm Not Paranoid

The following paper was written in response to the book 'Predators: Pedophiles, Rapists & Other Sex Offenders' by Anna C. Salter, Ph.D. It was written for the Psy 232 Human Sexuality class taught by Lauren Kuhn at Portland Community College, Winter 2011.



I'm Not Paranoid; I'm Just Cautious

I’m generally a very cautious person. I check the back seat when I get into the car, I carry a taser, and I lock my door even when I’m at home. These habits have been mine since childhood and there has always been someone around to tease me about my paranoia. “The odds of being attacked are slim” they will say. I know they’re slim; but as author Anna Salter reminds us in her book Predators: Pedophiles, Rapists, & Other Sex Offenders, just because something isn’t likely doesn’t mean it can’t happen. And it certainly doesn’t mean that horrible things only happen to someone else. Being naïve about the realities of sexual abuse and violence may make it easier to sleep at night, but it also increases our vulnerability.

In this book Salter takes us on a chilling journey into the minds of some of the most frightening people imaginable-child molesters, rapists and sadists. She also provides us with the ugly truth -these people are also our friends, neighbors, parents, spouses, siblings, teachers, coaches- the list goes on. These people live where we live, they work where we work, they go to church and PTA meetings, and they look just like everyone else.

So how do we lessen the risk if it’s hard to tell who’s who? It’s actually quite simple, we just have to watch, listen, and most importantly, we have to trust ourselves. It’s the last part that makes this difficult. No one wants to believe their husband or friend could be a child molester, or that their child could be a victim, even if there is evidence. It can be difficult to trust ourselves when our intuition is telling us something unpleasant. But as the old saying goes, “it’s better to be safe than sorry”. To do this we must understand how these offenders act and think.

Chapter three introduces us to several sexual predators that will tell us how they created their outward images so they could live what is referred to as a double life. A double life consists of two parts, the life the world sees, and the life lived in secret. The deacon in this chapter created what some might call a perfect double life. He was an excellent deacon, his parishioners adored him. He was generous and kind, helping families financially or with errands. He visited the elderly, volunteered for community service, and took care of the sick. He even made a special effort to spend quality time with kids in his youth group who had difficult home lives. What his kind eyes and smile don’t tell you is that he is also a child molester (31).

The deacon mentioned above molested over 95 children from multiple churches. He chose his victims carefully, looking for kids who came from broken homes and would be easy targets due to their desperate desire for adult attention. Children who needed guidance and love, whose parent(s) felt certain their children would be safe with such a kind, caring, man of God. Sadly, they were wrong. These children almost never mentioned that this man was teaching them secret games involving their genitalia. And when they did tell the deacon barely had to say a word before his peers had grouped together in his defense. Even when multiple children came forward, everyone looked the other way and claimed it was simply not possible (pg 32). Somehow it’s easier for folks to believe that children are grouping together and plotting out false allegations of sexual abuse, than it is to believe the good in someone could be a mask that is hiding all the evil underneath.

Denial may seem comforting, but in these situations it tends to do more harm than good. We cannot stop these predators if we’re too busy being blinded by their façade. Victims cannot heal from abuse if everyone around them says that it didn’t happen. If we only look at the surface we only see a fraction of the truth. The ongoing MTV series, “If You Really Knew Me” poses the theory that people are like icebergs, we only show each other our surface, which makes up only 10% of who we are; the other 90% is hidden, only to be revealed to people of our choosing. Most of us hide the parts of ourselves that cause us pain or embarrassment, things that make it difficult for us to feel good. Sexual predators, however, hide how good it feels for them to cause pain, and they usually only show their true selves to their victims. This tends to create a cycle as the victim will often bury these experiences beneath their surface so the rest of the world cannot see the pain that’s been caused.

Child molesters are a cunning breed. They know most people desire to see the good in others, and they use that against us. They pay attention to the way communities and families respond to cries for help, and they use this observation to their advantage. They know when to back off and when to inch closer. Salter quotes an offender as saying “child molesters are very professional at what they do, and they do a good job of it” (44). Unfortunately he is correct. Some offenders are so skilled in their craft that they have successfully molested victims in cars and houses where the parents were present, without them noticing (27 & 28).

If child molesters are cunning and observant, we must be also. The final chapter helps us to assess the risk-factor involved with different people in our lives. We must ask ourselves ‘Is there a high chance or a low chance that this person could be a threat?’ To properly assess this risk, we must know how to recognize deception. It is not always as easy as one might think. There seems to be a common notion that if someone looks you in the eye they are telling the truth. That may be so in some cases, but it’s not a very reliable method for detecting a lie. Experienced liars know that if they look a person in the eye when speaking there is a good chance their words will be believed, even if they are untrue. I, personally, am a terrible liar. I also don’t spend time practicing my lying skills. But offenders do. They are great liars because they spend their lives rehearsing their lies. And we all know practice makes perfect (41).

What we have to do is look beyond a person’s words and their ability to make eye contact and focus on their behaviors. Does the youth group leader always volunteer for activities involving kids of the same age group and sex? Yes. Are they often alone with the kids during these activities? Yes. Are any of their own children in this age group? No. Do they even have children of their own? No. This person is a high-risk individual (227). It doesn’t mean their actions harbor an ulterior motive, but using added caution around them isn’t going to hurt.

You may wonder how to use caution without being accusatory. This can be done by minimizing your exposure risks. Salter offers an analogy where minimizing exposure to offenders is like doctors minimizing exposure to AIDS; you can’t tell who’s infected just by looking at them, so it’s best to wear gloves with everyone (223). This doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t let your child take part in community and church activities, but it does suggest that you should be as involved as possible. The deacon mentioned earlier admitted that he chose children whose parents did not seem overly involved (32). Simply volunteering to chaperone an event, or attending your child’s little league practices can make all the difference. It may not prevent bad things from happening, but it might. As Salter puts it, “…you don’t have to be sure a man is a child molester to avoid leaving your child with him; you need to be pretty darn sure he isn’t.” (234).

There are other predators in this world that are just as cunning as the child molester. Like the handy man who helped a family with repairs on their new house. He scheduled appointments when the husband wasn’t home; made sure the neighbors noticed he was there. He was a great handy man for six months, and then he raped the woman who hired him in her home in the middle of the night. When the rape was reported he claimed to have been having an affair with this woman. From the outside looking in, that’s exactly what it appeared to be; and this man spent six months planning it out, knowing the community would believe every single word he said (41).

Sadists are another breed of predator. Their bodies and organs may make them human, but they lack the ability to feel any form of empathy or compassion. The sadist is only concerned with what makes him high, and his drug of choice is causing unwanted pain. Not all sadists are sexual predators. Studies show that only 2-5 percent of sex offenders have sadistic tendencies and it appears to be a slow-moving transition for those who do (97). Some have a sexual response to violence alone; others require sexualized violence in order to get off. But they all love to torture people (104).

This section of the book was difficult for me to read. Salter even warns the reader to skip it due to its disturbing nature (98). However it was not the text itself that was difficult to endure, it was my physiological response to the words of the predators. I have masturbated to fantasies of rape and sexualized violence since my adolescence. I am generally the victim in these scenarios, but over the years I have found myself becoming aroused while watching horror movies. It has also occurred when reading books on serial killers (who are generally sadistic), but for some reason I was not prepared to experience arousal when reading this book. I think about the victims and what they have endured and I empathize with them, I do not feel any arousal. But I read these words from the sadists’ mouths and my clitoris begins to pulsate until I provide it with release. I accommodate this urge every time; I cannot focus otherwise.

Knowing this about me may make some people feel uncomfortable. There are parts of me that I don’t understand, but I’m quite sure that I have never been a threat to anyone. I feel guilt easily. I don’t know how to lie. I do not have access to any children in this state. I certainly wouldn’t describe myself as ‘evil’ like the sadist did on page one hundred. But don’t believe me just because I can say these things while looking you in the eye. By all means, if I make you uncomfortable, keep your distance. That’s what I would do.

As I said in the beginning, I’m a cautious woman. Between the few strangers that followed me from the bus stop, and the family friend who fondled me in my sleep, I learned from a young age that people are not always who they appear to be. But despite my long history of precautions, I have begun to slack off a bit when it comes to minimizing my risks. This book reminded me of why it’s important that I pay attention to who might overhear my conversations. How many strangers have heard me give friends directions to my house? How many people have heard me say I have a gun that I refuse to buy bullets for? I need to watch my mouth more.

Salter also discusses the idea that positive thinking will save us from negative circumstances (159). While I do believe that positive thinking can help us respond more positively to negative circumstances, I do not believe it will prevent them from happening, or vice versa. My thoughts tend to be very catastrophic at times; the thought of being attacked at random crosses my mind every day. Honestly, I think I’m less of a target for predators now that I’m no longer pre-pubescent with blonde hair and blue eyes, but if it does happen-no matter how unlikely-I won’t be surprised.

I’ve been paranoid for as long as I can remember; not only because of my personal experiences with predators, but because of reading about and watching the world around me. When I was fourteen I was molested; my friend was kidnapped, raped and murdered; and an internet search revealed that 89 registered sex offenders lived in my small zip code. This did not surprise me then, and nothing in this book (even information that is new to me) surprises me now. I function only because even though I’ve been exposed to traumatic events, the odds of things happening to me are still unlikely and I’ve had more positive experiences than negative.

Despite the odds, I had my partner fix our broken dead bolt upon completing this book. Dead bolts buy time (236). I was up late last night so I closed the blinds over the back porch window. Not because I felt afraid or because something odd had happened. But because I don’t know who lives behind my house, and I don’t want to make it easy for them to know how often I’m alone in my kitchen in the middle of the night. I’d like to believe that nothing bad will ever happen to me and that my precautions are unnecessary or ridiculous. But you know me, I’m paranoid and I prefer to err on the side of caution.



*Due to blog formatting the Resources page has not been posted. If you would like access to the resources used when writing this paper please email me.