tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4824220908990123472024-02-02T06:21:12.957+00:00Always HopefulSally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-21233016514274031322015-03-08T10:00:00.000+00:002015-03-08T10:00:00.907+00:00Forgiveness, Faith and Abuse.... oh yes and I'm back.... sort of!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hi, remember me? It’s been around four months.<br />
<br />
I disappeared from writing my blog because I had to focus my attention on some
hefty family stuff. I didn’t start again because I reached a point where I didn’t
want to keep on writing about my own experiences. <br />
<br />
But I’m not done. I still have plenty to say (and those who know me will know
that this is not entirely out of character) I have so much to say about how the
church responds to domestic violence, how it reacts to perpetrators and victims
and how it needs desperately to change so that it can be a source of help to
those facing this issue, rather than as it all too often is now- a hindrance,
an aide to the perpetrator. <br />
<br />
I’m just still working out how I want to do this and where I want to go with
it. I like to think I will probably resurrect this blog again with a different
focus, but not yet. It’s important to me though to continue to build a
community where Christian women who have faced abuse can find support and
understanding and can explore the confusing melee of experiences and emotions
they face in relation to their faith. So
I‘m going to start to post on the Always Hopeful Facebook page again; there’s
so much information and help available and I hope we can all share
some of this there. If you don’t already follow <a href="https://www.facebook.com/alwayshopefulandnotabused?fref=ts">Always Hopeful on Facebook</a> I’d like
to encourage you to do so, to get involved and share links to other blogs and
articles. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Before I go though I do want to write one last blog post
about my experience with Domestic Abuse as a Christian. I said at the very
start that I hoped to be able to write about Forgiveness at some point, and I
hope that being able to have at least a little to say about it is a fitting
place to end, at least for the time being.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think that one of the biggest mistakes Christians make when dealing with
Domestic Abuse victims is telling them that they need to forgive their abuser.
I believe this is a mistake for a number of reasons</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -18pt;">1.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; text-indent: -18pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">The “forgiveness” card has most likely been
played by the abuser countless times, to keep her in the relationship after abusive
incidents. He is likely to have said that forgiving him is her “Christian Duty.”
When she escapes she’ll be feeling massive amounts of guilt, and telling her to
forgive her abuser will only add to this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">2. She probably still equates “forgiveness” with “reconciliation”
and we definitely do not want to be encouraging that. Even if intellectually
she has worked out that you can forgive without being reconciled she’s still got
to figure out how to do that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">3. She’s likely to be struggling with her
relationship with God, she’s likely to be angry with God, confused about
whether she’s disappointing God by walking out on her marriage, she may well be
doubting his existence. Telling her that God wants her to do something she may
well feel is monumentally impossible isn’t going to help this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">4. Finally, by encouraging forgiveness it’s easy to
negate her anger, to encourage her to repress it and not actually face up to
the experiences that have made her angry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my case I decided from the start that
although I wanted to be able to forgive my husband I wasn’t going to beat
myself up about not being able to. I figured that if I focussed on my
relationship with God he’d help me get to forgiveness when the time was right. It’s nearly two years now since I left my
husband and the vast majority of that time has been spent on feeling better. I
think of it as my time in emotional physiotherapy. After a massive physical
injury we don’t expect people to be able to run, but rather we help them to use
their muscles slowly and gradually; building up their strength until one day
they do run. In my opinion, asking me to forgive my husband two years ago would
have been like asking me to run on a newly broken leg. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the very early days I remember telling
my counsellor how incessantly angry I was. It’s always stuck with me that he
said “good.” He told me being angry was the right response to abuse, that my
anger showed I was actually emotionally healthy and normal, that I wasn’t “crazy”
but in actual fact was a normal human being who was rightly angry at something
very very wrong. He told me he’d be more concerned if I wasn’t angry. Meanwhile
many Christians in my life were counselling me to “leave my anger at the foot
of the cross” and other such clichéd phrases that had no real, practical
meaning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since then I’ve worked through my anger each
time it’s cycled round. Sometimes I’ve indulged it too much and have acted
foolishly, but by choosing not to try to ignore or repress my anger or “give it
to God” I’ve faced and dealt with the things my husband did that made me angry
and </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">without doing that how could I
possibly forgive?</span></div>
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<br />
When we were together I thought I had forgiven him countless times. But I hadn’t.
What I had done was minimise, justify and deny his behaviour. I never faced up
to what he did. I never really admitted
that he was abusive so how could I have forgiven him? This means that over the
last two years all those incidents I thought were forgiven were replayed, the seriousness
of them admitted, the pain he caused acknowledged and the anger it created
properly felt.<br />
<br />
Two years on the majority of my time is no longer spent on healing, there’s
still work to be done, but I’m able to focus the majority of my life on serving
God and others, on building a future for me and my children, and ultimately on
enjoying every single moment of this breathtakingly beautiful, fragile, short life
God has blessed me with. Now that I am
focused on the rest of my life, a life that is good, now that I don’t need to
focus on fixing what he broke I am finally starting to feel able to forgive. I am still angry at what he did, particularly
at what he did to the children. I am still angry at that he continues to
choose to be an abuser over being a father, and I think I always will be. In
fact I don’t want ever to stop being angry that someone would hurt my children.
But I really don’t think anger and forgiveness are as mutually exclusive as
people think they are.<br />
<br />
I am back in contact with my ex husband (not by choice for the record) and when
I consider his behaviour I feel angry. But when I speak to him on a weekly
basis my blood does not (always) boil, and despite being annoyed at his
behaviour I am starting to be able to see the human being as well. I am angry
at him but I am also sad for him. I don’t only see a monster who hurt me and my
children, I also see a child, created in God’s image, loved beyond imagination
by his Father, pursued eternally and never given up on no matter what he did
and how deeply flawed he is. I know my God weeps for the pain caused in my
family but I know those tears are not only shed for me and my children.<br />
<br />
If you know me it would be easy to assume I haven’t forgiven him. I’m still
cross, I still complain about his attitude, I still call him names and growl
somewhat when something reminds me of him. Generally speaking I don’t go around
telling people I can see the human behind the behaviour, partly because that’s
a bit gooey sounding for everyday conversation and partly because, especially
as I spend more and more time with victims and survivors of domestic abuse, it’s
massively important to me that we don’t let abusers off, we don’t allow anyone
to take responsibility for abusive behaviour except the abuser themselves and
we definitely don’t make excuses for them. <br />
<br />
For me forgiveness is not something that happens overnight, we don’t suddenly
decide to forgive our abusers and then just do it. It’s not a replacement for
anger, it’s not something we should be pushed, or rushed into and it is not our
‘responsibility’ or our ‘duty’. But I do believe it’s necessary for our
emotional health and I believe it’s a good thing to desire. I am a work in
progress, some days I do not forgive my husband at all, but mostly I am beginning
to, and I know I’ve only got to the point where I am able to even contemplate
forgiveness by trusting God to do that work in me in his time.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Don't forget to like <a href="https://www.facebook.com/alwayshopefulandnotabused?fref=ts">Always Hopeful on Facebook</a></b></span><br />
<o:p></o:p>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-15685327434779628842014-10-01T21:59:00.002+01:002014-10-01T21:59:57.766+01:00Just to let you know...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsDhGNvkFREE48Y0eMvx_hlBTS_04F4R4yKNYlMZMdEZKns4SUEikESuj550BOe3ZoE9e4qlzE31g18qAOpew9wNIABSvvNP3FOHHrpJ6vfAtMLbzGnuyAl1m3DEsm0V_1Rw3KfhR4w/s1600/WP_20140820_20_16_58_Pro+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsDhGNvkFREE48Y0eMvx_hlBTS_04F4R4yKNYlMZMdEZKns4SUEikESuj550BOe3ZoE9e4qlzE31g18qAOpew9wNIABSvvNP3FOHHrpJ6vfAtMLbzGnuyAl1m3DEsm0V_1Rw3KfhR4w/s1600/WP_20140820_20_16_58_Pro+(1).jpg" height="316" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>“If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast” (Psalm 139: 9-10)<br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> My faith has not got me through my difficult time with domestic abuse. My faith has not been my source of strength, my inspiration or the thing I have clung to. <br /> <br /> My faith is weak. My faith doubts. My faith makes demands and is pretty unfaithful when they aren’t met. My faith is fickle. My faith is lazy too. My faith couldn’t get me through anything really, because it’s mine, it’s human.<br /> <br /> My GOD on the other hand did get me through the tough times, and still does. My God is faithful. HE is my source of strength, as the psalmist puts it, even if I run from him in anger, try to pretend I don’t believe in him anymore he’s still there, holding me and guiding me. Loving me.<br /> <br /> It’s hard to describe sometimes the many ways God has held me up, partly because it’s so deeply personal. It’s easier from behind a keyboard to tell you that God is amazing, really amazing. That he’s been there for every need, for every tear I’ve cried, for every problem I’ve faced. That when times have been tough I have never once felt abandoned, unloved or unimportant, even when I was being told by my husband I was unlovable. It’s easy for me to type that the reason I still have self esteem despite the abuse isn’t because I am tough or thick skinned but because I know I am a child of the King, I deserve respect and I am loved, unconditionally even when I completely mess up- which I do, a lot. Knowing that it’s okay to mistakes and that someone bigger than anything is looking out for you is pretty helpful when it comes to worry and confidence. <br /> <br /> It’s not always easy to tell you that over coffee and cake though. I’m aware that when Christians talk about their relationship with God it can make others feel uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I also know some Christians are like pushy salespeople who desperately want you to follow their brand of religion and won’t shut up about how great it is until you agree to. I don’t want to be that person either.<br /> <br /> But I do you want you to know I have this God, and he’s brilliant. And without him I wouldn’t have got through it. I just want you to know really that God’s awesome, and faithful and whoever you are, wherever you are on whatever journey you’re on; He loves you. </span>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-79751957217203896052014-09-17T22:28:00.000+01:002014-09-17T22:28:00.864+01:00Full Hands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-skcD5Fof4S6fuHBPa_m7sS_3JeJajRdkJ5Ew8d-60lhJbKxKGfLCmiAY8DNb2BEIs6u6vbu8lyJFvgC7oW8Kayk2_7zZug5zSjvErDjrnS_985tOLIx_3EFDeYBbeeY8lna-YWkMeg/s1600/WP_20140911_11_59_38_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-skcD5Fof4S6fuHBPa_m7sS_3JeJajRdkJ5Ew8d-60lhJbKxKGfLCmiAY8DNb2BEIs6u6vbu8lyJFvgC7oW8Kayk2_7zZug5zSjvErDjrnS_985tOLIx_3EFDeYBbeeY8lna-YWkMeg/s1600/WP_20140911_11_59_38_Pro.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“You’ve got your hands full” calls the old guy peering over the hedge he’s clipping. He doesn’t realise that the lady over the road carrying her shopping in said the same thing two minutes earlier and the postman as I left the house. My twins have started school, they look adorable in their little uniforms. We get a lot of attention as we walk to school. I smile at the old man, just as I did at the lady with the shopping, and the postman, I dutifully say “yes, yes I have” after all, he’s only being friendly, he thinks he’s being original. Some days I have to grit my teeth but usually I am thankful that I get to share in these little guys lives. It’s so much easier to be thankful these days.<br /><br />Two years ago when strangers would say “you’ve got your hands full” I hated it. I used to think “you don’t know the half of it” I wanted to say “Full? Full? These two are nothing. Besides having another child at home I have a husband who regularly wakes me up by yelling at me, who keeps me awake all night- yes the husband, not the babies. Who screams and swears at these guys and makes them cry most days, who pushes me around, hurts me and complains about me, who leaves me to look after all three kids on my own while he sleeps in front of the TV or watches porn in his office, who can’t even aim straight when he has a pee.” I’m not sure how that would have gone down with strangers who were making a friendly comment about my cute kids. <br /><br />I remember a couple of months before I left him sitting in the GP’s surgery asking for some anti-depressants because I just couldn’t cope anymore. The GP made a comment about how having preschool twins plus a child with autism and a husband with mental health problems must be stressful. I found myself saying “if it were just the children I’d be okay, it’s not the children making me feel like this at all, I just can’t cope with him, it’s all him” At this stage I was completely overwhelmed with what I felt were my responsibilities, caring for three children and trying to manage the emotions and behaviour of an unstable adult. Since learning that one of those people was not my responsibility life has become so much easier, my hands don’t feel full at all. <br /> <br /> So now, when I smile at those lovely people commenting from their manicured suburban gardens about how full and busy my life must be, with no idea of what goes on in their own neighbourhood behind closed doors, I say “yes” but really I’m thinking “no my hands aren’t full, not really, not anymore” </span>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-5557784272989240902014-09-10T21:44:00.000+01:002014-09-10T21:44:43.501+01:00#lifeisbetter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The #whyIstayed and #whyIleft hashtags have been really informative. I know they have made a lot of survivors of domestic abuse feel they have a voice and I really hope they’ve helped to educate people a little about the dynamics of abusive relationships. Raising awareness about domestic violence is why I write.<br /><br /> But that’s not the only reason I write. I write to encourage. When I first left my husband it was the stories told online by other brave women that kept me strong. They told me I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t over reacting. They told me my husband wasn’t special, our relationship wasn’t “unique” or “meant to be” he was just an abuser, like every other abuser, nothing more, nothing less and no more likely to change. Without those stories I don’t know if I’d have stayed away. Those stories kept me safe and empowered me. <br /><br />More than that those stories gave me hope. I read stories of women who’d learned to love themselves again, who found new homes, new careers. Who built afresh their relationships with their friends and their children. Women who described finding a joy, peace and freedom they never knew existed. These women told me, from their own experience that there is life after abuse. Abundant, joyful life. Life full of freedom, peace and laughter. At a time when I despaired, when I couldn’t bear to think about the future, when I felt like I could never be happy again I needed this. I really needed this.<br /><br /> One of the countless reasons I stayed with my husband is that he made me happy, or I thought he did. He didn’t hit me every day, sometimes he was lovely and I genuinely passionately loved him, I’d built my entire life around him and I couldn’t imagine ever being happy without him. And so I hope, I really hope that my blog lets other women, still in abusive relationships, or who have just left them know you can be happy, you can be so much happier without him. <br /><br />I’ve written a few posts on how much better life is since I left my husband, such as:<br /><a href="http://www.alwayshopefulandnotabused.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/me-and-my-mystery-machine.html">Me and My Mystery Machine</a> </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://alwayshopefulandnotabused.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/you-dont-need-eyes-to-see-you-need.html">You don’t need eyes to see you need vision</a> and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://alwayshopefulandnotabused.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/five-small-acts-of-rebellion.html">Five small acts of rebellion</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think it would be awesome if the thousands of women who shared why they stayed could also encourage those about to walk that same painful path that the path widens, gets brighter and life becomes something wonderful. It really does. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">So let’s all tweet not only #whyIstayed to raise awareness but also why #lifeisbetter now we’ve left to encourage one another. I’ll go first</span><br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">#lifeisbetter because I can dig in the butter.</span></i></div>
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-62264108549680179362014-09-08T23:02:00.000+01:002014-09-08T23:02:01.260+01:00Me and My Mystery Machine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I love that feeling in the pit of my stomach as we sneak swiftly over the crest of a hill, I love the sound of my little boys squealing “faster mummy” and I love to glance over at the grin on my oldest boys face as he proudly looks down at the country side whizzing past from his new vantage point. Most of all I love the feeling of freedom knowing I can go anywhere, that I’m in control behind that wheel and the world is my playground.<br /> <br /> I bought a camper van in the summer, we have had a few nights away in it and we’ve been for countless days out. Sometimes we just get in it and drive. Today after school we went out into the countryside just for a spin for an hour. </span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I missed the turning I had meant to take. Two years ago this would have been a disaster, had I been with him it would have resulted in panic and shouting, had I been on my own I’d have been scared of being lost, scared that the roads would be too difficult for me to drive on, scared of getting home late….<br /><br />Today missing the turning meant I discovered an amazing road where a tiny pretty stream cut through imposing hills covered in masses of deep purple heather and lush ferns. It was spectacular to drive along but more so as I realised that two years ago I’d never have dreamed I could have done.<br /> <br />My husband liked his cars, I had a tiny old hatchback, which he proudly told everyone that he had graciously bought me (with money from our joint account!) he changed his cars on a regular basis, but it was invariably large, shiny and fast. I’d get shouted at for closing the doors too hard, for making the car messy, for not watching where I put my feet. He regularly told me that I was burning out my clutch, that I was driving too close to the kerb, that I was a terrible driver. And this made me so because I was constantly nervous behind the wheel. I certainly would never have dared to drive his car for fear of scratching it. I hated country roads, I hated not knowing exactly where I was going and I was terrified to drive anything big.<br /> <br /> Slowly I have got my confidence back, I have chosen to drive a van, and I love it, I feel like a total boss sitting up there, cruising along to the sounds of Tim McGraw and Lady Antebellum ambling along country lanes in awe of the breath-taking scenery on my doorstep that I never even noticed when I lived in my box with my ex. <br /> <br /> In many ways overcoming abuse has been about overcoming fear, and that fear permeated so many aspects of my life. Driving a van might not seem like much of a challenge to some, to me it was, challenging myself, stepping out of my comfort zones and forcing myself to experience those things I previously thought were unavailable for me has been one of the greatest tools in my healing. I’m working this next year on being able to do all the things I previously thought I couldn’t. </span></div>
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-21977843634200038262014-08-25T22:59:00.000+01:002014-08-25T22:59:01.907+01:00Top Ten Tips for Lazy Mums<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">September is almost upon us, gone are the lazy lie in's, the mornings spent watching Disney Movies, the lackadasical attitude to bedtime and routine. We're approaching the time of year where mornings are spent rummaging through the ironing pile frantically hunting for the elsuive school jumper while simultaneosuly hollering "just eat your breakfast, you're going to be late."<br /><br />If like me you've enjoyed the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer and are thinking this back to school malarky sounds a bit too much like work, here's my top ten tips for lazy mums to try to make life just that little bit.....well....lazier!<br /></span><br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Convince your children that odd socks are
cool….you’ll never have to pair their socks again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">odd socks are cool!</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Play lego on an old tablecloth. When it comes
time to put it away you just pick up the four corners and pop the whole lot
back in the box. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>When you do cook: cook twice as much as you need
then freeze half. By keeping a stock in the freezer like this you can just
defrost on busy days and have a meal without having to cook or resort to
takeaway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cook 'too much' and freeze some</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>If you have boys who regularly “miss” the toilet; get yourself one of those mops that you can wring out without needing a bucket, and keep it in your bathroom with some watered down detergent. Rather than
filling a bucket of soapy water you can just spray the pee, wipe up with the
mop and rinse the mop in the sink, takes about two minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Getting the paddling pool out at weekend? Put
bubble bath in it the kids will think it’s great fun having bubbles in the pool
and you’ll get them clean without having to give them a bath that night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFg23UXeIDncG2guCbUNdBNlntSC4DjC5kr2i5UE804wF8gYvFG190tIBKqkgz_Q5kr_EdSaPPRGvfyNqv2A5pTDsalPspj5JXf-5H27sTJPTeetY2tVH02P_KNRvGBJmqemwk4U07HA/s1600/WP_20140629_16_24_14_Pro20140825220512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFg23UXeIDncG2guCbUNdBNlntSC4DjC5kr2i5UE804wF8gYvFG190tIBKqkgz_Q5kr_EdSaPPRGvfyNqv2A5pTDsalPspj5JXf-5H27sTJPTeetY2tVH02P_KNRvGBJmqemwk4U07HA/s1600/WP_20140629_16_24_14_Pro20140825220512.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bubble Bath in the paddling pool.</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Put bedding straight on the bed from the dryer
or washing line to avoid having to iron it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Another one you can eek out before the weather turns: if you can, dine al fresco-
the birds (or local cats) will clear up the mess off the floor for you and
there’s no walls to get splattered! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpigYSpOIOrMh8HwsTPMMbQRAJTnQ6KuFZblIn3yvCboQqklZ63RSLILvBcY7IQvvWjyHo7hWbE9V5F5O8qzWKyDiUJjLUgnnXK7W_o_lh8KLqfMgHPbiehSwNAGKWSDIoBvnwCj2jg/s1600/Photo(45)20140825221423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpigYSpOIOrMh8HwsTPMMbQRAJTnQ6KuFZblIn3yvCboQqklZ63RSLILvBcY7IQvvWjyHo7hWbE9V5F5O8qzWKyDiUJjLUgnnXK7W_o_lh8KLqfMgHPbiehSwNAGKWSDIoBvnwCj2jg/s1600/Photo(45)20140825221423.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining Al Fresco needn't be fancy</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Going on a picnic? Don’t put your sandwiches in
boxes, instead wrap them in tin foil. Don’t take flasks, take cartons of juice,
make sure everything you take is in a disposable wrapper/container. That way
when you’ve finished your picnic the whole lot goes in the bin and you have
nothing to carry for the rest of the day. Do this with school packed lunches too and you won't have to find yourself cleaning the mouldy sandwich box they forgot to bring home for a week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Serve everyone’s meal on one plate when you
can…..sandwiches, nachos, pizza are all good things to stick in the middle of
the table on a big board and let everyone dig in. It helps your children learn
to share, it’s a lovely communal activity and more importantly it saves on
washing up. (learning lots of one pan recipes also saves on washing up)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi9baW-kAoaZGfIoAbwHrbbltiw2BkA5x4nqYbC-10LdlcgK9CBizJB0XWTbCBoRbq3lpQ-4qB2ckih2yNlVfgQ72rcOZYmGKxgauutXZjTu85gvgLQ0_QrObh9AZ14nAj4EWjTdd_w/s1600/WP_20140825_19_05_09_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi9baW-kAoaZGfIoAbwHrbbltiw2BkA5x4nqYbC-10LdlcgK9CBizJB0XWTbCBoRbq3lpQ-4qB2ckih2yNlVfgQ72rcOZYmGKxgauutXZjTu85gvgLQ0_QrObh9AZ14nAj4EWjTdd_w/s1600/WP_20140825_19_05_09_Pro.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Encourage sharing and save on washing up</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">10.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->And one for Back to School: Sewing in name labels? Seriously, who has time
for this? Get a sharpie!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WfEKDu5VUzboJOkm8v9xc6i3lTdYQFIRpyYtE1Txz2cMu87pP79Txqo3hnzkxIgS44ky3Q_9nCUWIimccK_O0EagodJY9UfLDCSRMWqRY2LO5eGLATQ8HxnYOD7QvDyWJ3NNzlI0Qg/s1600/WP_20140825_20_22_48_Pro20140825202433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WfEKDu5VUzboJOkm8v9xc6i3lTdYQFIRpyYtE1Txz2cMu87pP79Txqo3hnzkxIgS44ky3Q_9nCUWIimccK_O0EagodJY9UfLDCSRMWqRY2LO5eGLATQ8HxnYOD7QvDyWJ3NNzlI0Qg/s1600/WP_20140825_20_22_48_Pro20140825202433.jpg" height="171" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The humble Sharpie: Lazy Mum's Best Friend. </td></tr>
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</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Have you got any Lazy Mum tips you can share? I'd love to read them. </b></span></o:p></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-48804634171840919352014-08-19T21:17:00.000+01:002014-08-19T21:17:18.741+01:00"You don't need eyes to see, you need vision." <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: blue;">(Maxi Jazz)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As the pads were removed from my eyes I felt as though a whole new world were opening up to me. The world was suddenly brighter, clearer and stunning as I saw for the first time the beautiful intricacy of the natural world.</span></div>
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I was born with cataracts and in my late twenties I opted to have them removed. Had I realised the difference it would make to my life I’d have done it sooner, but having only ever lived a life with partial sight I had no conception of what real vision was. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At first many things about the world shocked me; the first time I properly saw my hands I had to be told that everybody’s palms have lines on them and they didn’t look ‘wrinkly’ as I thought. I remember being fascinated by simple things like tiles on roofs and leaves on trees. I saw the world in a detail I never imagined.</span></div>
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Trees were no longer a blur of brown and green; I could see the texture of the bark, the beauty and depth of colour in the leaves, the sheer number of delicate tiny little twigs on every tree. The world literally came alive to me, both in it’s grandeur and it’s delicacy. As we drove along for the first few weeks after the surgery I’d stare out of the car window in wonder of the intricate pictures whizzing past me. I was aghast and suddenly appreciative of this new found gift of vision I imagine I’d have just taken for granted if I’d always had it. I suddenly enjoyed reading and devoured books and I spent all my spare time and spare money learning to drive, something I never believed I’d be able to do. </div>
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When you suddenly find yourself removed from a dark place into the brightness and wonder of our beautiful world it is nothing short of life changing. Just like I didn’t realise how blurry and dim my vision was before I had my surgery I didn’t realise how sad and empty my life felt before I left my husband. I always thought I couldn’t imagine living a full life without him but what I didn’t realise was that in reality I was only living half a life with him. I had no idea how numb I had become, how little joy and excitement I felt in my life, how repressed my other relationships were. I had no idea the difference freeing myself from abuse would make to my life. I actually thought I was happy, in truth I had forgotten what happiness felt like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to bed I feel alive, the sun is brighter, the air is fresher, the flowers are prettier my children are cuter- everything, the whole world is just more beautiful. I had no idea how fun life could be and how many amazing and fulfilling friendships I could have. I get up now and smile, I do something fun with my family not on special occasions but every single day and every single day something makes me laugh, makes me smile and makes me feel grateful, even on bad days. I have a ton more energy than I ever had and I feel able to do anything: I feel I could take on the world. I really am amazed daily at how much richer, fuller and more joyful my life is compared to how it was only 18 months ago. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the pads were first removed from my eyes the world seemed a daunting place, it took a lot of getting used to and was even painful for a little while. But it was most certainly worth it. If you’re in a dark place, don’t delay, seek the light, crawl your way out, even if it’s slow and painful I promise you won’t regret it.</span></div>
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-63999110994868254092014-08-08T17:15:00.000+01:002014-08-08T17:29:01.112+01:00Dream a little dream...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCq0gQdnFxrtfJpPDsTFNlgqNrgDKllJS1zNApH4Xxty50KrRNAyQyg4g8Rp-PU42oPEVyHHKu0uKhK4UYxl26C8zh4l8w2pWRRayMBRHIsGK4-llzI7L5GNl3Ciy5MnmzFNq9eUH7gg/s1600/WP_20140808_16_03_22_Pro20140808165007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCq0gQdnFxrtfJpPDsTFNlgqNrgDKllJS1zNApH4Xxty50KrRNAyQyg4g8Rp-PU42oPEVyHHKu0uKhK4UYxl26C8zh4l8w2pWRRayMBRHIsGK4-llzI7L5GNl3Ciy5MnmzFNq9eUH7gg/s1600/WP_20140808_16_03_22_Pro20140808165007.jpg" height="400" width="260" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />When I am old, well not old; that age where your children have flown the nest but you’re not yet an old lady. That age, whatever it is, I have plans for it. I’m going to get a houseboat.<br /><br /> I always dreamed of retiring and living on a houseboat, but my husband was not only HUGE he was also a bit of a kleptomaniac. Enormous hoarders who feel cooped up easily and tiny houseboats don’t really mix. So I’d shelved that idea, after all I planned to grow old with this guy. I figured when we were older we’d live in a ‘nice’ suburban semi somewhere where he’d tinker with many cars, it didn’t float my boat but I liked the idea of him at peace happily under a bonnet without all the worries and stresses he seemed to carry. <br /><br />I gave up a lot of dreams for my husband, this was probably the least of them. Some of them I either can’t get back because I’m just not nineteen anymore or I just don’t want to get back that badly because I’ve changed. But my houseboat; I like that one. I’m going to work on it and enjoy it. One day you might find yourself meandering along a canal and you’ll see a delightful little boat called “Sally Hope” you’ll wonder “Is that the woman whose blog I used to read?”- do pop in for a brew, the kettle will always be on and the door will always be open<br /><br />The kettle will always be on, there’ll always be tea in the pot. When my time is more leisurely I will brew pots of tea and sit on the deck of my boat watching the world go by sipping from kitsch china teacups. (yep you read that right, I will have china on a boat!) I’ll read more, I always intend to now but never seem to find the time. I’ll write too. In the evenings I’ll curl up in a corner of my boat, comfortable among my many brightly coloured squishy cushions, watching old eighties and nineties action movies, passers by will be bemused by cries of <i>“Yippee Ki Ay Motherfucker!”</i> coming from the pretty yellow houseboat with delicate sweet scented flowers adorning it’s roof. <br /> <br /> There may or may not be a Mr Sally Hope sharing this houseboat with me, but whether there is or not it will not be the home of a lonely old lady. It will be filled everyday with friends popping in to say ‘hi’ to check out what latest crazy incongruent thing I’ve done to decorate or just because….. Some of the other canal residents won’t like my boat, because it looks silly, or because it’s loud, there’ll be regular howls of laughter to be heard from it and I hope grandchildren, great nieces and nephews and local neighbourhood rapscallion kids getting into all kinds of mischief, never egged on by me of course. <br /> <br /> </span><br />
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Occasionally people will come to visit and I’ll not be there, the boat won’t be there, we’ll have sailed off, china teacups rattling around, pretty flowers falling overboard because I’ve forgotten to bring them in. And the neighbours will enjoy the peace and quiet until I return from whatever crazy adventure I’ve taken myself off on. </span><br />
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-410357613527406912014-08-01T17:36:00.000+01:002014-08-01T17:36:37.961+01:00Alton Towers, Autism and no meltdowns.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took my children to <a href="http://www.altontowers.com/">Alton Towers</a> last week. My eldest son has autism
and I had been putting the trip off for a long time because I really worried
about how he’d cope, not just with queues but with the crowds and the high
visual and auditory stimulation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I needn’t have worried. Alton Towers seem to cater very well for disabled
people. When we arrived we were able to get ride access passes on proof of
disability which allows the disabled child to jump the queues for the rides.
Unlike many other theme parks who only offer the pass to the disabled person
and their carer, Alton Towers allow the disabled child to ride with three other
people, the only stipulation being that one of these must be an adult. This
made a huge difference because we went with friends, if my son had had to wait
while his friends queued then the pass would have been a waste of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We also took my son’s friend who has diabetes, I was really impressed at
the attentiveness of the staff who gave us the wristbands to notice he uses a
pump system and proactively tell us he would need to disconnect it for some of
the rides; they gave us a map where they marked those rides out. <br />
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The park also give out wristbands for all children that you can write your
mobile number on, if they get lost a member of staff will be able to then remove
their wristband and contact you. This gives peace of mind if you have a child
prone to wander off, or if like me, you have several children to keep an eye
on. There were lots of staff around and they were all friendly and helpful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Alton Towers is huge with lots of quiet green spaces between the rides.
In some ways this is a disadvantage because it takes ages to walk between the
rides. But with a child with autism it’s a massive bonus, because the park
doesn’t feel busy and there are lots of peaceful spots to rest in. The park was
not too crowded and my son was happy and relaxed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Be warned though that Alton Towers will fleece you for every penny you
have so save up and take a picnic if you go. I bought the children a hotdog at
the end of the day. They were £4.95 each. A refillable drink is £7. I expected
this though so didn’t mind too much, theme parks are after all notorious for
their expensive food. What I found really annoying is that after charging
upwards of £40 for a ticket they additionally charged £6 to park the car.
Surely for that ticket price they could afford to include parking. They also do
the usual thing of making you walk through a gift shop (and an arcade too after
Oblivion) as you get off the rides, I found this particularly difficult with my
son who is easily distracted by bright shiny things, in fact the only time we
momentarily lost him was in the arcade after Oblivion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We
took several children with us, all different ages and sizes. Because Alton
Towers is so huge it was difficult to make sure everyone got a good amount of
rides because getting from the big rides to the small rides was time consuming.
But if you do have to do this there really is something there for everyone and
all the kids seemed to really enjoy themselves. The driving school was a hit
with the little ones and the bigger ones loved Oblivion and 13. There were also
plenty of things we could all go on together such as the Charlie and the
Chocolate Factory ride which was a lot of fun, and Hex which frankly I didn’t
like and the little ones found a bit boring as the build up to the ride (you
watch videos telling a ghost story) was too long. We all had fun on those boats
where you shoot each other with water and got very wet in the process. </span></div>
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The ride attendants are very strict about the height restrictions. We had two
children who were about half a cm too short for some rides and this did lead to
some disappointment, irritatingly enough they measure you AFTER you have queued
for the ride as well so if you don’t have ride access passes or choose not to
use them for some rides this could lead to major disappointment if you have
thought you’re tall enough and they say you’re not. Next time I go will be when
the children have grown WAY past the height limits so there is no question. <br />
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The only other disappointing thing was that the rides close at 6pm. Because the
park is so big it’s hard to fit in everything you want to do, and in the summer
when the days are long it seems they could stay open another hour or two. But
really this is a testament to how much fun we were having that we didn’t want
the day to end.<br />
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Although for the cost Alton Towers has to be one of those big rare treats
overall it’s a really fantastic fun filled day out that caters for everyone in
the family with pretty much any need you can imagine. My son loved it and the
only things he found difficult was dealing with not being able to get on rides
due to height restrictions and the fact the day had ended. We found Alton
Towers to be a really peaceful environment (well as peaceful as you can expect
a theme park to be) with the ability to meet all our needs. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-62856763240655457742014-07-24T00:05:00.001+01:002014-07-24T00:05:33.882+01:00Age of innocence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsl2P5w8KQ-GZV8hei9v-of23wjtF-G6-mZHFHiqsdnKXtQo5e_G91H-7Ug5Byz7AS7_rmvuTu30stldul105wzX3X-H4tE7_-cPXzHG_9U0_dPeRoPLUB44JwlDQ74xurwflM9qUew/s1600/little+dude.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsl2P5w8KQ-GZV8hei9v-of23wjtF-G6-mZHFHiqsdnKXtQo5e_G91H-7Ug5Byz7AS7_rmvuTu30stldul105wzX3X-H4tE7_-cPXzHG_9U0_dPeRoPLUB44JwlDQ74xurwflM9qUew/s1600/little+dude.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was my son’s last day of primary school yesterday. Every day I hear phrases like “can’t believe he’s grown up so fast” or “where has the time gone?” I don’t identify.<br /><br />It feels like a lifetime ago that my baby boy started school. A different world, another life. So much has happened and so much has changed since then. I think about my happy innocent boy, who trotted off for his first day in school with no idea of what he was going to go through over the next seven years or how much of a different place he would be in by the time he started high school.<br /> <br />I think of how naïve I was, the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' rings true. When my boy started school I was 9 years into an abusive marriage, yet blissfully ignorant to what my husband was doing or how the abuse was escalating. In my mind my husband had a few mental health problems and I was hopeful and excited about him overcoming them, I looked forward to the life he promised us. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> I was a full time manager, a career woman, my husband had gone back to University whilst I supported him on my earnings. Life was hard; he was away and I was on my own with our child. When he did come home he was bad tempered and angry; complaining bitterly about the course tutors who didn’t understand him and weren’t as clever as he was. But I was filled with hope. In my mind by the time my son left primary school he’d be top of his class, with a bunch of awesome lifelong friends and his parents would be happily married both with successful careers, his dad would be a role model who worked hard during the week and hung with him at weekends.<br /> <br /> And now here I am 120 miles away from that school. My son has been to three different primary schools, been diagnosed with autism and found school tough. He has hidden in his bedroom while his dad beat me up, he’s run and hidden from his dad chasing him, he’s sat in fearful silence not knowing what to say to his dad’s endless criticisms. He’s endured humiliation, fear and physical pain from the man who was supposed to love and protect him. He’s watched his mum turn from a confident career woman to a broken mess who cries in the kitchen whilst cooking his tea. Far from having a role model my son has had to sit and explain to social workers why he’s scared to be alone with his dad.<br /> <br /> My beautiful innocent little boy who happily raced his friends across the playground has seen and endured things no child should. I think back to how innocent and naïve we both were and a part of me wishes we still were. We’re both jaded now. He’s not yet eleven; he shouldn’t be jaded. I am so proud of how he has come through the things he has battled, how emotionally intelligent and strong he is, what a mature thoughtful approach he takes to his experiences, and how hard he tries to provide his brothers with the good male influence he never had. But I am sad, so deeply sad that he has had to.<br /> <br /> When he starts high school in September his baby brothers start primary school. And I consider how different it is for them (and me this time). When my older boy started school I was naïve and filled with excitement and hope. Now I am cynical and tired but I still hope. In fact I have more reason to be hopeful now and my hope is grounded in reality, not in fantasy. Somehow though that makes me feel sad. I’m not sure why. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">My decree absolute arrived this week. I knew it was in the post and was expecting it and was already experiencing some mixed feelings around receiving it. When it finally arrived I felt an enormous sense of failure and loss and I spent that day reminding myself that it is not me who is a failure or a loser</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <br /> I had a post penned to this effect, a pretty angry post about all the things my husband had lost and how in real terms all I had lost was a bunch of fruitless hopes and dreams. I ended it by pointing out that I’ve gained more than I have lost; and my husband is a loser. <br /> <br /> But later, as I prayed, read my bible and listened to a beautiful song my friend posted on facebook I realised that it’s not about that. Life isn’t about winners and losers. My life, well it’s not about me, and it’s not about my ex-husband. It’s about Jesus. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I listened to the lyrics “Your tears will dry, your heart will mend. Your scars will heal and you will dance again” and I thought about how, for me, healing has been a conscious effort. All my energies this last year have been focused on healing from the pain my husband caused me and I’ve put God at the centre of that because I know I can’t do it without him.<br /> <br /> I’ve known my tears will dry, I’ve known my heart will mend and I’ve known my scars will heal and I’ll dance again. Why? Because I’ve known my God is faithful, that he loves me and as I’m his child he wants me to be whole and happy. For me life has been about feeling better and I’ve comforted myself in the embrace of a loving father who I know wants to fix me and wants me to feel better. <br /> <br /> But that’s not all. You see it’s not just about me feeling better; in fact it’s not about me at all. It’s about Jesus. The song ends, not with “and you will dance again” but with “and of his kingdom there will be no end, for Christ our King is coming back again” Me feeling better, that’s not the end of the story, that’s not the end of the story because I’m not the protagonist. Christ is. This story it’s not actually mine. It’s his<br /><br /> So this week I’m not writing about my triumph over feeling like a loser by reminding myself that someone else lost more. Instead I am reminding myself that without Christ we’re all lost anyway, and that my part in this story isn’t that of the triumphant heroine who beats life’s adversities but is actually that of a lost child rescued by a wonderful faithful God. It is he who deserves the glory and adulation in this story, the triumph is his, not mine. And this is why I praise him whether I feel better or not, because however I am feeling that day he is God and that is enough. </span><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 54.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-27139860393871831122014-07-13T14:32:00.000+01:002014-07-13T22:26:21.980+01:00Top Ten Tips for surviving the summer holidays (especially if your child has autism) <div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My eldest son has autism. He likes routine.
School is brilliant for offering structure and routine and so when school
suddenly stops in the summer my son struggles. He’s about to leave primary
school now and so we’ve had quite a few summer holidays, some completely
disastrous and others totally awesome. Between us I think my son and I have
pretty much sussed how to get through the summer holidays without anyone being
murdered. Although these top tips are things I have learned for supporting a
child with autism I think they can be useful for any child, I have also found
that in supporting my other children in their recovery from domestic violence a
lot of the strategies that help my eldest child to feel secure have been really
useful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.
<!--[endif]--><u>Plan.</u> You need to do this at whatever
level of detail works for you and your child. One year I made a timetable that
planned out morning and afternoons for every day of the summer holiday, of
course that didn’t mean I was entertaining him constantly, but I planned out
when he would read, play on his x box, watch movies. Although that
sounds really dictatorial my son really liked having the timetable to look at
and follow; he likes things like that. Now he is older he’s learning to use his
own coping strategies and he also likes more autonomy so I can now just decide
what activities we’re doing in a week and as long as I tell him roughly what’s
happening and when he’s fine. Some level of planning in advance always relieves
stress and helps stop boredom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2.
<!--[endif]--><u>Have a plan B and communicate it in advance</u>.
If you have an outdoor activity planned you will want an alternative for if you
wake up that morning and the heavens have opened. There may be other scenarios
you need a plan B for: For example if you’re doing something with a friend you
might want a plan B for if that friend doesn’t turn up. My son hates unexpected
changes, if I have told him we’re going to the beach he expects me to take him
to the beach even if he wakes up and it’s snowing! So I have found that telling
him “we’re going to the beach but if it’s bad weather we’re baking” then
meltdowns are avoided if I cannot carry out my original plan. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3.
<!--[endif]--><u>Don’t be afraid to use holiday clubs</u>. I
know some people with children with autism or adhd or similar worry about
leaving them in clubs. My experience has been that most people who run kids
clubs are incredibly understanding and happy to care for children with special
needs. I always let them know in advance that my son has autism and I make sure
I tell them how it affects him and how they can best care for him. I also make
sure they have a reliable contact number. I think summer holiday clubs are
brilliant; they don’t just give children a more varied experience and
opportunity to work on social skills but they give them some of that much
needed routine and structure and you some respite. Check out what your local
council has to offer, ours is mostly sporty but they are starting to add in more
arty activities and nature walks. Also local libraries and museums often put
clubs on in the summer. These types of activities usually are fairly cheap. My
son also goes on <a href="http://www.madscience.org/science-summer-camps.aspx">Mad Science camp</a> every summer. It costs an arm and a leg but
he loves it, and I feel it’s worth every penny for what he gets out of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.
<!--[endif]--><u>Go for days out. Have fun</u>. You don’t get
this precious time with your kids for that long. Before you know it you’ll be
shopping for school uniform and setting the alarm clock for the school run
again, and it won’t be too long before they don’t want to spend their holidays
with their mum. Days out don’t have to be expensive zoos and
theme parks (though if you can run to them they are a lot of fun, I save up
BOGOF coupons through the year for the summer holidays) You can go for walks in
the woods, for picnics in the park, building sandcastles on the beach, skimming
stones in a river. Add in some beach combing or leaf collecting and then you’ve
got an art activity for a day at home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.
<!--[endif]--><u>Think about dinner in advance</u>. If you
have taken them out for a day chances are you won’t feel much up to cooking
when you get home. If you can, cook some meals in advance and freeze them so you
don’t have to worry about them eating rubbish all summer. You can get home from
a day out and have a yummy meal that just needs warming through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6.
<!--[endif]--><u>Get the balance right</u>. If you’ve got a
big day out planned then plan a day at home watching movies or something quiet
and relaxing for the following day. I found that too many exciting days out in
a row only leads to tiredness, over stimulation and meltdowns- from both of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.
<!--[endif]--><u>Spend time with friends, but not every day. </u>We
had a summer where we planned loads and loads of days out with the same friend
from school. By the end of the summer that friend was exhausted. I have found
that my sons friends are really brilliant and understanding about his autism
but at the end of the day they<i> are</i> children themselves and if you spend
all your time with one friend their tolerance for your child’s ‘quirks’-
especially in the summer when meltdowns may be more frequent might wear thin. I
find it best to arrange days out with several different friends on different
days. It’s fun to go out with other people, it’s nice for your child to have a
friend with them and it’s also nice to have some adult company of another parent.
But I do advise to spread yourself widely and thinly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8.
<!--[endif]--><u>You don’t have to constantly entertain them</u>
There will be times in the summer holiday when I throw open the back door, give
my eldest his bike and send him off out, or when I leave my youngest in a room
with a pile of toys. In fact there will be a lot of times like this. It’s good for children to entertain
themselves, they learn valuable skills from free play. The key with an
autistic child may be that “playing on your own” is in a specific time slot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9.
<!--[endif]--><u>DVD’s and TV are NOT going to damage them. </u>The
laundry doesn’t just do itself because the kids aren’t in school. If you need
to plonk your kids in front of the TV or in front of a movie to get stuff done
this is okay. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">10.
<!--[endif]--><u>Don’t sweat the small stuff </u> If you have a child who for one reason or
another craves routine you know they’re going to find the summer holidays
difficult and stressful. Children often deal with stress by misbehaving. Whilst
it’s important to maintain boundaries you may also think about where you can
cut them some slack, so their bedroom isn’t so tidy or they’re not being as
helpful as they could be….it’s not THAT big a deal is it. Choose your battles
wisely, focus on the behaviours that really matter to you and maybe be a bit
more relaxed on the less important stuff. </span><u><o:p></o:p></u></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-17056354206244671102014-07-11T20:44:00.001+01:002014-07-11T20:44:31.902+01:00A New Chapter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-71430019139187079602014-07-06T21:23:00.000+01:002014-07-09T11:17:41.613+01:00Let It Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Like most mothers with young children recently I’ve had three words going round and round in my head for the last few weeks <br />
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"Let it Go"<br />
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But it’s not because my kids are into Frozen, in fact weirdly enough they must be the only kids on the planet who aren’t and for that I am eternally grateful. <br />
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Of course I do hear that song everywhere I go, there’s simply no avoiding it, but it hasn’t just been that. I’ve seen these kind of memes on my facebook and twitter feeds, and from people you wouldn’t expect them from:<br />
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I have a lot of wise Godly people in my life and they’ve been saying to me recently “you’ve got to let things go Sally, you have to stop dwelling on it before you become bitter.” God really has used every means at his disposal to get this message across to me, when I’ve stubbornly refused to engage it’s been everywhere.<br />
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I also read that telling an abuse victim to move on and let it go is trite and ridiculous not only because they have formed a traumatic bond to their abuser but also because it’s a hurt you just can’t imagine unless you’ve been there. And I have found myself agreeing with this and asking God “I know I need to move on but <i>how</i> when it hurts so much?” <br />
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Last night I was off to bed, it was late and I thought to myself “I wish I’d found time to read my bible today but it’s late now and I’m tired” but then I just got this feeling that I should read it. I argued with myself a bit (please tell me I’m not the only one who has conversations with herself in her head? I feel a bit crazy admitting this) but in the end I couldn’t ignore the feeling not only that I needed to read my bible, but that I should read the passage I read yesterday (Isaiah 53) because I had missed something. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.wylio.com/credits/flickr/30611184/"><img alt="BBC Cross from Flickr via Wylio" id="Flickr-30611184-1404677318506" src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/22/30611184_63df274dd1_z.jpg" title="'BBC Cross' by Ihar, released on Flickr under the Creative Commons Attribution License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/), found via Wylio" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">© 2005 <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/ihar/" title="'BBC Cross' published on Flickr by Ihar">Ihar</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ihar/30611184/" title="from Flickr">Flickr</a> | <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/" title="Creative Commons Attribution License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">CC-BY</a> | <a href="https://www.wylio.com/" title="Easily credit free 'cross' pictures with Wylio.">via Wylio</a></span></td></tr>
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And this is what I read:</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…. He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth” (Isaiah 53: 3&7) </i></blockquote>
I pondered how Jesus experienced pain, sorrow, grief, rejection, abuse. I thought for a while on how he has walked the road I walk. It’s because he’s suffered he’s able to walk this road of suffering with me, he’s the friend who really “gets it.” Yet I’ve known he’s with me on this road, I’ve known he understands my suffering, but I haven’t understood how that can take the pain away. I haven’t seen how having a loving saviour who understands perfectly what I am going through, really in any practical sense helps me to let go and move on.<br />
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And then I read this <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> “Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down.” (Isaiah 53:4)</i></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.wylio.com/credits/flickr/10510532884/"><img alt="In the morning at 09:05 am from Flickr via Wylio" height="298" id="Flickr-10510532884-1404676276150" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7297/10510532884_ec23d52c1f_z.jpg" title="'In the morning at 09:05 am' by KarstenH68, released on Flickr under the Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/), found via Wylio" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">© 2013 <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/pcapemax2007/" title="'In the morning at 09:05 am' published on Flickr by KarstenH68">KarstenH68</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/pcapemax2007/10510532884/" title="from Flickr">Flickr</a> | <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/" title="Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/">CC-BY-ND</a> | <a href="https://www.wylio.com/" title="Easily credit free 'sun clouds' pictures with Wylio.">via Wylio</a></span></td></tr>
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And suddenly, like a lightbulb moment, that horribly religious phrase “leave it at the foot of the cross” made sense to me. I had always understood the concept of atonement; I’ve always grasped that on the cross Jesus took the burden of all my sins, all my wrongdoing. But it never dawned on me that in taking the burden of <i>all</i> sin he didn't just deal with my sin, he dealt with the sin done <i>to me</i>. I understood that Jesus felt the shame of my sin, I had never thought about how he also takes the <i>pain </i>of sin. On the cross Jesus felt this pain I am feeling now, the pain caused by my husband’s sin; he felt this exact hurt and anguish. He didn’t just die so I wouldn’t have to; he hurt so I wouldn’t have to.<br />
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So can Jesus take this pain from me? Well he already has, I just need to surrender it. All the times I’ve prayed “God please please stop me hurting” I’d known God was able to because he is all powerful, but I imagined it being like some kind of cosmic magic; where he would just make the pain vanish, and that kind of didn’t work for me. It’s only now I realise how God heals us, he does it by putting that pain onto his precious son and letting him carry that burden for us.<br />
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What a friend we have in Jesus!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
“What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear<br />
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.<br />
Oh what peace we often forfeit<br />
Oh what needless pain we bear<br />
All because we do not carry, everything to God in prayer.”<br />
(Joseph M. Scriven)</blockquote>
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-58850892932584033432014-07-02T21:21:00.000+01:002014-07-09T11:22:58.363+01:00When I get it wrong<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I want to write a post to say to other victims that it’s okay to get things wrong and it’s okay to not always feel positive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I want to tell you you are not alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This blog is about my progress, it’s about healing, it’s about moving on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But that journey isn’t a straight road. In fact it’s not even a long winding wiggly road.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />It’s a road with big pitfalls you might trip over or even fall in. It’s a road with sticky patches of mud you get trapped in, feel you’ll never get out of and think you’re going to drown in. It’s a road with tangley brambles that snare you, scratch you and cause you pain. It’s a road that often goes dark and you get lost on, that loops back on itself making you feel you’re not moving towards your destination but are in fact going backwards. It’s a road you often have to sit still on for a while and catch your breath and look back how far you have come even though you can see how far you still have left to go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />I get a lot wrong. I fluctuate from listening to good advice to acting on instincts and screwing up. Some days I don’t want any contact, others I find myself firing off angry emails to him demanding answers for why he abused me (seriously just don’t do this) I have periods of calm, of happiness and joy but then suddenly I’ll wake up one morning and think “how did my marriage end up like this?” Sometimes I think about the good times, I think about the times we laughed together, I think of curling up on the sofa watching NCIS Los Angeles and laughing at how rubbish it is, I think about how I’d cook him his favourite meals, or how on a Saturday night he’d cook steak and we’d watch a movie. I think about how, when he <i>was</i> being tender he’d touch me or hug me. Sometimes I miss him. I really miss him. And sometimes I think about that and I regret my choices and I cry and cry and cry. Yes I sometimes miss, regret leaving and cry over a man who abused me and my children. It makes no sense, my friends and family find it really difficult, they just cannot understand it, and this makes me feel alone. <br /> <br /> Other times I think about him screaming at my children, I think about him terrifying my son. I think about how my son would scream and run and hide in his bedroom and how sometimes he’d chase him up there and pin him to his bed. Then I get angry, I get really really angry and I lose all sense of rational thought. I send him angry emails, I lay into his friends for supporting someone like this, I tell his girlfriend what she’s getting into, I scour his facebook page and find myself turning into an angry, bitter vindictive ex: the kind of person I don’t want to be.<br /> <br /> I feel bad sometimes that I write a blog about healing because I feel like I am not healing. I feel I am a hypocrite if I talk about focusing on the future, or placing all my hope in Jesus now, because oftentimes I am not doing those things.<br /> <br /> But they are my goal. And sometimes I achieve them. And when I don’t; when I’ve had a rough time or have done something stupid, when I’ve wallowed in self-pity or I’ve allowed anger to control my actions I know, I always know, I have a God I can return to, who says “I will NEVER leave you or forsake you” NEVER. Even when I say “screw you God this man hurt me and I’m gonna hurt him back” or when I feel like he’s not there and I’m all alone with my grief, even in these dark dark times he doesn’t leave me. He nudges me, he finds ways to let me know he’s still there, even though I sometimes ignore that nudging, and when I stop my wallowing he’ll still be there. Like the father who puts his best robe on his prodigal son, he’ll welcome me back with open arms and re- clothe me in robes of dignity. He’ll forgive my impetuousness and my stupidity, he’ll dry my tears, and he’ll love me and remind me I’m his daughter. No matter how long I travel on this road, no matter how many detours I take, how many pitfalls I not only encounter but cause for myself, I won’t walk it alone, ever. And neither will you. </span></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-51675437423135880712014-06-30T14:07:00.000+01:002014-07-11T19:21:54.293+01:00Playing the victim game.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s been a while since I left my abuser but last week suddenly a wave of anger
swept over me. It seems odd that I have become so angry and bitter at this
stage, I can only think that it’s now I have started to heal that I finally
have the strength and energy for anger. Thinking about what he did to my
children has made my blood boil. I’ve seen red and I’ve acted on my anger. Once
again I didn’t give it to God as I posted about all those weeks ago.<br />
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It was probably very unwise but I acted on my anger by publically “outing” my
abuser. I don’t know what came over me, but I knew the lies he’d been telling
people and I went all over the forums he posts on, all over facebook and
twitter and set the record straight. It didn’t really achieve anything other
than making me look like a crazy bunny boiler and playing into his story of the
vindictive ex out to get him.<br />
<br />During all this though something stood out to me. One of his friends commented that
this was<b> </b><i><b>not the behaviour of an abuse
victim. </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b>Which makes me wonder: What<i> is </i>the behaviour of an abuse victim?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This notion that abuse victims behave in a certain way has been a part of every
decision making process, every conscious behaviour since I left him. There’s
always the question of “if I do this will people believe me?” and “am I
behaving appropriately as a victim.” Being believed is important. It’s not just
important for our self respect and our healing, it’s important for our safety.
Scarily judges and magistrates in family courts make decisions about our children’s
futures not only on the evidence in front of them (which in abuse cases is
often very scant) but also on how we present in court. Being able to “present”
as a victim is important. <br />
<br />
And this is wrong. My abuser loves to “play the victim” I don’t want to. In
fact I don’t want to be a victim anymore. I’m not saying going on the attack is
the right thing to do, but so what if I do? if someone who has escaped abuse
makes a choice not to be “a victim” anymore why does that make their experience
any less believable? My husband’s friend is right, I’m not the ‘victim type’ I’m
a loud mouthed, argumentative, bolshy, sometimes abrasive, intelligent, capable woman; but none of that
stopped me from being abused. What those personality traits do mean is that I
react differently to my experience to how someone quieter and more reserved
might, they also mean that once I am free of the abuse I am likely to begin to
fight back, and am certainly likely to say “I will never be a victim again” This
should not make my experience less believable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
We all respond differently to trauma. It is not for anyone to judge the truth
of a situation based on the reaction of the victim to that situation. I have
met victims who are scared to leave the home and victims who go out clubbing
every weekend. I have met victims who say they never want to have a
relationship ever again and victims who jump straight into another one. I have
met victims who never want to see their abuser again and victims who still love
him and can’t keep away. I have met victims who are saddened at their
relationship ending and victims who are overjoyed. I have met victims who are
wise and take good advice to stay away, and victims more like myself who trip
up, make mistakes and often get it wrong. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s a terrible indictment of society that some people make
judgements on whether abuse took place, or worse; whether it was justifiable
based on the persona of the victim. Personally I can’t actually fathom out how
I am supposed to behave in these peoples eyes, but frankly it doesn’t matter
because I refuse to remain a victim and I refuse to play the games my husband
is playing. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-44351436837900557102014-06-28T00:00:00.002+01:002014-07-11T19:23:26.559+01:00#100happydays<div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Throwing stones in the sea </span></td></tr>
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I’ve been doing the 100happydays challenge. If you don’t know about it <a href="http://100happydays.com/">this is it</a>. Basically every day for 100 days you take a photo of something that’s made you happy that day and make a note of it, it’s a good way to focus on the positives in our lives.<br />
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Looking back over my photographs I notice that most of them are of my children. I read my happy things and think how boring my life must appear. Nearly everyday I post that my family has made me happy. For a while I wondered if this was because I don’t have anything else in my life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Flowers picked for me by my son</span></td></tr>
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But when I thought about it I realised no, actually I do have lots of things, just little things, in my life I am grateful for and happy about. But each day I have picked the top of that list, the thing that has made me happiest, and it just so happens that this is my family.<br />
What have I learned from doing #100happydays? I have learned that I am blessed with the most gorgeous, wonderful family anyone</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzfQB0KDKnxmxtuucCaEc1PFSQ38o19wjL0GFt6KheFZe-6lLE6JUCjPL6_t7bb7Ko9RS1pUC4dmBRQhgp_abvrKvVgYsMY3WMYOTz3_YBey6ODLnsUfkL3g1iiLG5XLhQGp-nycu6g/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzfQB0KDKnxmxtuucCaEc1PFSQ38o19wjL0GFt6KheFZe-6lLE6JUCjPL6_t7bb7Ko9RS1pUC4dmBRQhgp_abvrKvVgYsMY3WMYOTz3_YBey6ODLnsUfkL3g1iiLG5XLhQGp-nycu6g/s1600/home.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Home</span></td></tr>
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could ever hope to have. I have learned that if I have a good day or a bad day I sit down over dinner with my boys every night and I look at them and feel happy, that I have extended family who make me smile when I’m down and are utterly dependable. I’ve learned that I am content with what I have, that there is nothing, nothing missing from my life and that above all else because I can come home every day to a family who loves me and who I love I have every reason to smile. Daily. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.wylio.com/credits/flickr/3399569097/"><img alt="Happy Heart from Flickr via Wylio" id="Flickr-3399569097-1403909469467" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3572/3399569097_fabcf4bb06_z.jpg" title="'Happy Heart' by fauxto_digit, released on Flickr under the Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/), found via Wylio" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">© 2009 <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/fauxto_dkp/" title="'Happy Heart' published on Flickr by fauxto_digit">fauxto_digit</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/fauxto_dkp/3399569097/" title="from Flickr">Flickr</a> | <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/" title="Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/">CC-BY-ND</a> | <a href="https://www.wylio.com/" title="Easily credit free 'happy' pictures with Wylio.">via Wylio</a></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIRw-jjQGEyyyMBIC18j9e0gs-KjSH9Jq0kz34MFos4fvlxrCUX7laqceKSbteqbEVjNlpuvuKZ-U8H8vYokpuoslsmD5IBuEOttCcQer6rR_yL5niZRntMrMlro-2NLaXkvSr0RY0Q/s1600/book_whydoeshedothat-126x150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIRw-jjQGEyyyMBIC18j9e0gs-KjSH9Jq0kz34MFos4fvlxrCUX7laqceKSbteqbEVjNlpuvuKZ-U8H8vYokpuoslsmD5IBuEOttCcQer6rR_yL5niZRntMrMlro-2NLaXkvSr0RY0Q/s1600/book_whydoeshedothat-126x150.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture taken from www.lundybancroft.com</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">I’ve mentioned the book "Why does he do that" in my blog before. It’s the book I would recommend </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">everyone</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"> read whether you’ve been abused or not, it really is so informative and helpful. On the Womens Aid survivors forum many of the ladies refer to it’s author as Saint Lundy because he pinpoints exactly the dynamics of an abusive relationship that are so hard to explain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
When the abuse has been emotional it can sometimes be incredibly difficult to
explain, when your abuser tells everyone that you abused him and twists reality
to paint himself as the victim it can be tough to describe what actually
happened and how just because you argued with him it doesn’t mean it was six of
one and half a dozen of the other. How many abuse victims have heard “you two
argue all the time” or “you two wind each other up something chronic” or “you
two are as bad as each other” over the years. I know I have. It often leaves you wondering if you really were abused, or even if he was right and you were the abusive one.<br />
<br />
So today I want to share with you a snippet of the book from pages 138- 141. In this section, Lundy Bancroft hits the nail
on the head about how an argument with an abusive man works and how it leaves
the victim feeling. For me this was a near daily occurrence, it’s no wonder I
ended up feeling a little crazy.<br />
</span><br />
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"THE ABUSIVE MAN IN ARGUMENTS</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will begin by examining in detail an argument between an
abusive man and his partner, the kind I hear about routinely from my clients
and their partners. Jesse and Bea are walking along in their town. Jesse is
sullen and clearly annoyed. </span></blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BEA: What’s going on with you? I don’t understand what you’re
upset about.<br />
JESSE: I’m not upset; I just don’t feel like talking right now. Why do you
always have to read something into it? Can’t I just be a little quiet
sometimes? Not everybody likes to talk, talk, talk all the time just because
you do<br />
BEA: I don’t talk, talk, talk all the time. What do you mean by that? I just
want to know what’s bothering you.<br />
JESSE: I just finished telling you, <i>nothings</i>
bothering me… and give me a break that you don’t talk all the time. When we
were having dinner with my brother and his wife, I couldn’t believe how you
went on and on about your stupid journalism class. You’re forty years old, for
Christ sake; the world isn’t excited about your fantasies of being famous. Grow
up a little.<br />
BEA: Fantasies of being famous? I’m trying to get a job, Jesse, because the
travel agency jobs have all moved downtown. And I wasn’t going on about it.
They were <i>interested; </i>they were
asking me a lot of questions about it- that’s why we were on that subject for a
while.<br />
JESSE: Oh yeah they were real interested. They were being <i>polite</i> to you because you’re so full of yourself. You’re so naïve
you can’t even tell when you’re being patronised.<br />
BEA: I don’t believe this. That dinner was almost two weeks ago. Have you been
brewing about it all this time?<br />
JESSE: I don’t brew, Bea, you’re the one that brews. You love to get us
confused. I’ll see you later. I’m really not in the mood for this shit.<br />
BEA: In the mood for what shit?? I haven’t done anything! You’ve had it in for
me since I arrived to meet you!<br />
JESSE: You’re yelling at me, Bea. You know I hate being yelled at. You need to
get help; your emotions just fly off the handle. I’ll see you later.<br />
BEA: Where are you going?<br />
JESSE: I’ll walk home thank you.You can take the car. I’d rather be alone.<br />
BEA: It’s going to take you more than half an hour to walk home and it’s
freezing today.<br />
JESSE: Oh, Now suddenly you care about me so much. Up yours. Bye (walks off) </span></blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
The lives of abused women are full of these kinds of exchanges. Jesse didn’t
call Bea any degrading names; he didn’t yell; he didn’t hit her or threaten
her. Bea will be in a tough spot when the time comes to explain to a friend how
upset she is, because Jesse’s behaviour is hard to describe. What can she say?
That he’s sarcastic? That he holds onto things? That he’s overly critical? A
friend would respond “Well that sounds hard, but I wouldn’t call it <i>abuse</i>” Yet, as Jesse walks away, Bea
feels as if she has been slapped in the face.<br />
WHAT IS GOING ON IN THIS ARGUMENT?<br />We will first look at what Jesse is doing and then examine
how his <i>thinking</i> works. The first
point to illuminate is:</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
THE ABUSER’S PROBLEM IS NOT THAT HE RESPONDS INAPROPRIATELY TO CONFLICT. HIS
ABUSIVENESS IS OPERATING <b><i>PRIOR </i></b>TO THE CONFLICT: IT USUALLY <b><i>CREATES</i></b>
THE CONFLICT, AND IT DETERMINES THE <b><i>SHAPE</i></b> THE CONFLICT TAKES.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Therapists often try to work with an abuser by analysing his responses to
disagreements and trying to get him to handle conflicts differently. But such
an approach misses the point: His abusiveness was what caused the tension to
begin with.<br />
Jesse uses an array of conversational tactics as most abusers do:<br /></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<li>He denies being angry, although he obviously is,
and instead of dealing with what is bothering him, he channels his energy into
criticising Bea about something else.</li>
<li>He insults, belittles, and patronises Bea in
multiple ways, including saying that she likes to talk all the time and has
fantasies of becoming famous, stating that she should “grow up” and telling her
that she accuses him of stewing over things when it’s actually her.</li>
<li>He tells her that she is unaware that other
people look down on her and don’t take her seriously and calls her “naïve”</li>
<li>He criticizes her for raising her voice in
response to his stream of insults</li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He tells her that <i>she</i> is mistreating <i>him</i></span> </li>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<li>He stomps off and plays the victim by putting
himself in the position of having to take a long, cold walk home.</li>
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></blockquote>
<blockquote style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p>Bea is now left miserable-
feeling like a scratching post that a cat has just sharpened its claws on. Part
of why she is so shaken up by this experience is that she never knows when one
of these verbal assaults is going to happen or what sets it off. On a different
day she might have met Jesse to take him home and had a pleasant conversation
with him about his work day." </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can get more information about Lundy Bancrofts books <a href="http://www.lundybancroft.com/books">here</a> If you can read only one book on this subject do read "Why does he do that" it's incredibly eye opening. </span><br />
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-30672371031578416022014-06-20T09:42:00.000+01:002014-08-01T21:29:59.207+01:00My bruises.<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRim_0NVbTwEsuR4-xYV2gRLdNfYG-TfKPDEtz5DrbU4EzQOIyVPX_tm5GKcpI1hVXcyred7jBVs7ZCqu04ahTwd1IxMFZeen9avNBhXMbsgQhmRl4oBLwMasQQocTUXmiNilMHTUS6g/s1600/abuse+is+not+quote.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRim_0NVbTwEsuR4-xYV2gRLdNfYG-TfKPDEtz5DrbU4EzQOIyVPX_tm5GKcpI1hVXcyred7jBVs7ZCqu04ahTwd1IxMFZeen9avNBhXMbsgQhmRl4oBLwMasQQocTUXmiNilMHTUS6g/s1600/abuse+is+not+quote.png" height="320" width="218" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently watched<a href="http://www.hlntv.com/video/2014/06/04/domestic-violence-victim-abuse-photos-dohme-melissa"> this interview </a>with Melissa Dohne an American survivor of domestic abuse who was stabbed 32 times by her ex
boyfriend. She has gone on to publish the photographs of her injuries in a
campaign against domestic violence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking through the photographs shown on the video I felt
sickened. They are both shocking and disturbing, it is terrifying not only that
one human being could do this to another, but that a human being could do it to
the person they are supposed to have the most loving, intimate relationship
with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Melissa is what I have always considered a “real” abuse victim. In fact, even
now I see these pictures and think about how my husband never even came close to doing anything like that to
me. I feel like I have nothing to complain about, that in comparison to Melissa
I have no right whatsoever to use the term abuse for what I went through.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the point is, he could have done that. Abuse escalates, and not always at a
predictable rate. Who knows whether I may have ended up gravely injured or dead
if I had stayed, this can happen to anyone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Melissa’s story paints a picture of what can happen to any of us; to you, your
sisters, your daughters, ANYONE. She is so brave for speaking up about what
happened to her and I hope she inspires women to get out of abusive
relationships. I cannot commend her enough for her bravery and tenacity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so I am going to show you my one and only picture of my injuries after the
worst attack. It’s nothing like the horror that Melissa suffered, but it <i>is</i> what a larger proportion of abuse victims will have suffered. I’m sharing this in the hope that someone like me, who would have looked at Melissa’s pictures
and thought “now <i>that’s</i> an abuse
victim, I’m not, my relationship is fine” will look at them and think “well
that’s nothing, my husband has done that” and then realise that actually having
black bruises all over your thighs isn’t nothing. It’s abuse. And you need to
get out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This grainy selfie taken in a dusty mirror is after the time he threw me on the
floor and punched me repeatedly. It’s the only time I took photographs and this
is the only one remaining that I didn’t delete. (it just got missed) Usually I
would have more like single bruise on my arm where he’d grabbed me, or I’d be
sore under my chin where he’d choked me, I often had bruises on my back from
being pushed against things. If your body ever looks like this. If you ever
wake up with something hurting because you’ve been shoved, pushed, flicked, grabbed-
whatever. You are being abused. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ26QGzhTJpwvWYL97a3jgCETDHw2JeOgbmCZAWWBvtJ1UFlPXOoDc5BB9Y06U5lSKk3V8kwnRSscUEjkIQtSKEoOLqDDynWm8SwQ2KJapXTWtBJH6JLUKvwsw3kMgV-okTtvJCkJF3A/s1600/bruises.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ26QGzhTJpwvWYL97a3jgCETDHw2JeOgbmCZAWWBvtJ1UFlPXOoDc5BB9Y06U5lSKk3V8kwnRSscUEjkIQtSKEoOLqDDynWm8SwQ2KJapXTWtBJH6JLUKvwsw3kMgV-okTtvJCkJF3A/s1600/bruises.JPG" height="640" width="481" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-34506476263594211092014-06-16T22:00:00.001+01:002014-07-11T19:24:06.858+01:00I will not live in fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqT0xPG6m31GLzVye51rH9vxBFZ71MAVyUvNEdyvfqjgTcU5nNLr84nsGQvEFn6k9MbWws7uJFQZFvBp3clPddhdrYekhOqgWNz_WuD1TwVb6BigBZ-YIT6DETkukl1sa-fIG39OMGw/s1600/%23yesallwomen.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqT0xPG6m31GLzVye51rH9vxBFZ71MAVyUvNEdyvfqjgTcU5nNLr84nsGQvEFn6k9MbWws7uJFQZFvBp3clPddhdrYekhOqgWNz_WuD1TwVb6BigBZ-YIT6DETkukl1sa-fIG39OMGw/s1600/%23yesallwomen.png" height="130" width="640" /></a></div>
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A young guy recently tweeted me “Do you truly believe living
your life in perpetual fear is healthy?” He seemed to be suggesting that the
awareness raised through #yesallwomen was causing unnecessary fear and alarm. <br />
<br />
I blogged<a href="http://alwayshopefulandnotabused.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/yesallwomen-fear-is.html"> last week </a>about how when my husband and I were together I lived in
fear but it crept up on me so insidiously that I didn’t even realise that was
how I was living. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
However, when I left I realised what was happening in my
life my fear became much more pronounced.
After I left my husband I began to learn as much as I could about
Domestic Abuse. From reading I realised that abusers can behave more
dangerously when the relationship ends. I realised my husband’s patterns of
behaviour make him fit the profile of the kind of abuser who goes on to kill
their ex. In the early days the police classed me as someone at high risk of
serious harm, committees were set up to discuss how best to keep me safe, my
address had a flag on it to get a quicker 999 response. The council came out
and made sure my doors and windows were secure and my smoke alarm worked. The
sudden realisation of how dangerous my ex husband is absolutely terrified me.
At that point I felt scared. Really scared.<br />
<br />
But it was from this place of knowledge and understanding that I was able to
move away from my fear. When I was ignorant to my situation I was crippled by
fear and confusion. When I realised the seriousness of my situation I became palpably
scared; but this knowledge brought me the power to make changes and after I had
taken all steps to keep myself safe there came a point when I was able to say
“no, no more I will not live in fear” <br />
<br />
But more than this, #YesAllWomen doesn’t seek to raise awareness just so women
can keep themselves safe from dangerous men. #YesAllWomen seeks to raise
awareness so we can educate our sons, so that men can create a world where
women don’t need to keep themselves safe from men’s violence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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I am no longer
ignorant to what might befall me, I am aware of what could happen to me, just
as it could happen to any woman, because any woman could fall prey to a man
like my ex. I take steps to keep myself safe. And this means that unlike some
other women out there I can ensure I don’t end up in a dangerous and scary
relationship again. But I absolutely refuse to live in fear. I see the effect fear had on my life, how it
drained me of everything that was me, I say never again. I live in the same
town as my ex, I could bump into him at any time (and in fact have done) but
why should I cower in my home scared to live the life I have worked so hard to
recover? No I won’t; I will not live in fear. Never again.</div>
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Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-62634632733606854912014-06-13T19:15:00.000+01:002014-07-11T19:24:32.287+01:00#yesallwomen Fear Is....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYlp4LdthKnLldW6IEY4TDSqqlVamYpPK7vTorzZEQ2MBlY8tzTEI_TeaEliJQU2xzBYKAt0pNBruOHaEykVkx2R-M9m0m7grnADKL7YJbSaYaoeV1dVj8tOOipyMJ01Lh_L1Gj7Bog/s1600/WP_20140613_13_16_47_Pro20140613172653%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYlp4LdthKnLldW6IEY4TDSqqlVamYpPK7vTorzZEQ2MBlY8tzTEI_TeaEliJQU2xzBYKAt0pNBruOHaEykVkx2R-M9m0m7grnADKL7YJbSaYaoeV1dVj8tOOipyMJ01Lh_L1Gj7Bog/s1600/WP_20140613_13_16_47_Pro20140613172653%5B1%5D.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>"Quite an experience to live in fear isn't it. That is what it is to be a slave" (Bladerunner) </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The #yesallwomen campaign recently has brought up conversations
about women living in fear of abusive men. I spent 16 years living in fear, but
the thing is, it was only when I was free of that fear that it really dawned on
me how much hold fear had on my life, for the time I was living like that I
just thought it was normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we imagine someone living in fear we picture the timid
scared woman, curled in a corner of her home, trembling, worrying from one
moment to the next about her safety, her future. We imagine her heart
constantly beating, her breath heavy as she cowers scared of what he might do.
We heavily associate fear with panic and we don’t often associate it with
strong feisty women who argue back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it’s not like that, or at least it wasn’t for me. I
didn’t even think about being scared, I just got on with life. And life had
happy moments. It was just that those moments were punctuated by the worry
about my husband and his behaviour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was worried a lot about his health because he took drugs,
was grossly overweight, had loads of medical issues he wouldn’t get treatment
for and lived a terribly unhealthy lifestyle. His many suicide attempts made me
fear he’d kill himself. Becoming a widow was always something I feared. I spent so much time worrying about my husband’s
wellbeing I rarely thought of much else except how I could help him. As well as
this I ‘walked on eggshells.’ in fear of his reactions, and this affected my
thinking and my behaviour. Before I spoke, even to say “hi honey how was your
day?” I had to stop and weigh up how he would react to it. He’d also send me
texts and I’d be scared of missing them, because if I didn’t reply straight
away he’d go into a mood; over a year later I still find myself needlessly
checking my phone. I didn’t spend my days consciously scared for my own
wellbeing, thinking I was going to get hurt (even though I did get hurt.) I
just constantly worried about upsetting him because in my mind he was very
sensitive. This informed everything I thought, said and did- which in turn eventually
affected my relationships with others, my health and my ability to function
normally.<br />
<br />
I also worried about the children. I knew he was overly harsh with them (I
didn’t call it abuse) I knew they saw him treating me badly too, I knew they
heard him swearing. I worried about how I’d teach them right from wrong with
their father not modelling good behaviour and I worried about the emotional and
psychological impact of his behaviour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I never identified any of this as ‘living in fear’ I
just considered that because my husband was mentally ill I had a stressful life
with lots to worry about. It was only when I left him and began to not have to
worry about these things that I realised what a massive impact fear had had on
my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4o1TjFjy6htUhjUXzXeKoXnjscWWSeckZVndjIAIWewHygV11-ZL7wXafBk32gKDDBIN1G9j8ZK2KlqCPVlAK3LYA0ARt9CPjuPAdWGQOB0mC7K8T76h6x-KjNvAgEJ4yyG5SoNn6Q/s1600/WP_20140613_13_14_50_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4o1TjFjy6htUhjUXzXeKoXnjscWWSeckZVndjIAIWewHygV11-ZL7wXafBk32gKDDBIN1G9j8ZK2KlqCPVlAK3LYA0ARt9CPjuPAdWGQOB0mC7K8T76h6x-KjNvAgEJ4yyG5SoNn6Q/s1600/WP_20140613_13_14_50_Pro.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to have a patch of brambles at the back of my garden,
I never really gave them much thought, in fact I barely noticed them after I’d
lived in the house a while. But my dad did. He made it his mission to cut them
down. It was only when he started to cut them back that I saw how huge they
were, how they were intertwined with so many other plants and bushes and were
beginning to trail their way down the sides of the garden. I am sure had he not
cut them back they’d have taken over the whole garden. But when he did cut them
back we found some beautiful yellow flowers growing underneath. With hard work
and a lot of scratches my dad was able to cut the brambles away and a few weeks
later those flowers had grown taller and brighter. Where once I had a patch of
unsightly and painful brambles I now had a bright array of the yellowest
flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that’s how I've found fear to be, it’s insidious. For me it’s not
some giant sharp toothed noisy beast waiting in the shadows under the bed, to all at once pounce on you. If
it were I’d see it, I’d spot it and I’d find ways to escape from it. No it’s
more like bindweed that slowly, in the shadows, creeps up from my ankles stealthily
wrapping itself around everything that is me, until it grips my soul and yet I still don’t necessarily notice it’s there; I just sit, strangled and choked
by it’s hold, unable to grow, unable to blossom, unable to be who I was designed to be until eventually any light I once had is completely smothered.
It is only when something changes, when I am no longer smothered by fear that I'm able to take a step back and see clearly it’s debilitating effects. It’s
only at that point I am once again able to grow and flower and fulfil my potential and purp</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">ose. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-20167460658312851802014-06-11T10:50:00.001+01:002014-07-11T19:26:38.431+01:00Abuse is not.....Your Fault<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWsaBmoQa3dORFjthnb4JBPP2DY50iM1rTkthOS_UyXATopQ4ao2maYucXTUFIthw237jM-aSAKvGa_Xc-Q0_xhEGmJ7Yrq8oL5MegZeChlqdcGTIOWVV_EXuwkFE0W_SpHQpx0wT3g/s1600/Abuse+is+not.....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWsaBmoQa3dORFjthnb4JBPP2DY50iM1rTkthOS_UyXATopQ4ao2maYucXTUFIthw237jM-aSAKvGa_Xc-Q0_xhEGmJ7Yrq8oL5MegZeChlqdcGTIOWVV_EXuwkFE0W_SpHQpx0wT3g/s1600/Abuse+is+not.....jpg" height="232" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>“Look what you made me do”</i></div>
<i></i><br />
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<i><i>“You’ve made me become something I hate”</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
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<i><i>“You always push my buttons”</i></i></div>
<i>
<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i>“You push and push until you make me snap just so you can claim the
moral high ground”</i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i>“If you’d just stop nagging”</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i>“You hurt me with your words, all I have left to fight back with is my
strength”</i></i></div>
<i>
<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i>“Why don’t you think before you speak? You say such nasty things”</i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i>“You backed me into a corner, I didn’t know what else to do”</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i>“I just wanted you to shut up”</i></i></div>
<i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“If you had just cleaned the kitchen properly none of this would have happened”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“If you would just discipline the children I wouldn’t have to play bad cop all
the time” </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“You know I hate Sunday mornings” “you
know I hate family dinners” “you know I hate walking”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“You always demand so much of my time, it’s frustrating”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“You make me so stressed, why can’t you do more so I don’t get stressed”</i></div>
<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i>“You hurt me so much by being such a whore”</i></div>
<i></i><br />
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<i><i>“I just wanted you to pay attention to me”</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
These are all words that I heard over and over for a long time. I bet you have heard similar, you’ve probably
heard different things but they all amount to the same thing <i>“It’s your fault I
abuse you, you get what you deserve.”</i>
<br />
This is the last in my ‘abuse is not series’ and contains the most important
message I have for you. If you take away one thing and one thing only from
reading any of my blog know this:<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>It is NOT your fault</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s right<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>It is NOT your fault.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-Ngky3GR-klpOq2FeAQqsIggDPexty9oN23Z-MU6mdqci4OfGy1OD5PEKFMVk1haV3JfAB_PsOZYO8Aq_e6lXr0b6zUr_5dO1hefi4hmdnXy5KU1FMqJf3vLNRdq8qJ-SS_OVNyZcw/s1600/happiness.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-Ngky3GR-klpOq2FeAQqsIggDPexty9oN23Z-MU6mdqci4OfGy1OD5PEKFMVk1haV3JfAB_PsOZYO8Aq_e6lXr0b6zUr_5dO1hefi4hmdnXy5KU1FMqJf3vLNRdq8qJ-SS_OVNyZcw/s1600/happiness.png" height="640" width="352" /></a>Not one iota of it. Not even 1% of it. He’s spent so much time trying
to convince you you’re to blame that perhaps you have started to believe it. If
he’s really manipulative like mine he will have appeared to take some
responsibility, but ultimately the end of the ‘making up phase’ will have ended
not only with him making a commitment to change but with you also promising not
to wind him up or something equally unachievable. You will have been left
feeling that although he shouldn’t have done it you were partly to blame for
some ‘miscommunication’ that led to some ‘misunderstanding’ that was so
difficult for him that he simply had to behave like an animal. In my case I was
always made to feel that he treated me badly because he was unhappy, and as his
wife it was my job to make him happy, if he was unhappy it was because of
something I was, or wasn’t doing. This is not true.</div>
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And if you’ve left him you have probably had well-meaning but ultimately
ignorant people tell you that you simply <i>must</i> be
partly to blame, after all, when a relationship breaks down it’s usually not
the fault of only one party. Wrong. In the case of abuse it’s entirely the
fault of the abuser.</div>
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I found as a Christian this was particularly the case, I had well-meaning
Christians counselling me to “focus on what I could have done differently” and
“confess my sins before the Lord.” There’s something about the Christian
understanding that we are not perfect and need salvation from our sin that
causes some Christians to recommend we introspectively look for the ‘forgotten’
sin we committed whenever something goes wrong in our lives. Job had friends
like this too. However, sometimes things go wrong because of someone else’s
sin. Sometimes we are sinned against, and it’s not mutual. This is the case if
you have been abused.<br />
<br />
I also had a therapist tell me that “it takes two to tango” that “abused women
must somehow get something out of abusive relationships or they’d leave” To put
it bluntly this is a right load of old bollocks. I got rid of that therapist
quick sharp. Unfortunately a massive proportion of people have absolutely no
conception of the dynamics of abusive relationships, occasionally these people
are professionals. If like me you have the mis-fortune of encountering one of
these people know that you are well within your rights to ask for a different
therapist, have the confidence to do so. It has become increasingly important
to me to think carefully whose advice I take and whose words I listen to.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK9-nVqpeeks4aWyQ3yLW6HO6AhAjOrmskwfQG2IvySUAVnksNhpvaeZQ631ibQHgr6l0x6zpwE0nvyl8Da1ra0eo5aKHY8cwHRCLGzmEhCeaJQvEJc_SyjNK1g_xdYu7q1Ny4Z0VVQ/s1600/the+way+a+person+treats+you.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK9-nVqpeeks4aWyQ3yLW6HO6AhAjOrmskwfQG2IvySUAVnksNhpvaeZQ631ibQHgr6l0x6zpwE0nvyl8Da1ra0eo5aKHY8cwHRCLGzmEhCeaJQvEJc_SyjNK1g_xdYu7q1Ny4Z0VVQ/s1600/the+way+a+person+treats+you.png" height="379" width="640" /></a></div>
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I even found that some friends took his side and said I was to blame. “sounds like
she needed a bit of the Ike Turner treatment mate” or “you’re such a gentle
man, you’d never hit a woman without provocation, she needs behaviour
modification.” These people are not your friends, they are morons. Cut them out
of your life.</div>
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No matter what he tells you, no matter what friends, pastors, family,
professionals might tell you, let me re-iterate<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>It is NOT your fault.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Your abuser was an adult. Whether he was drunk, drugged, hurting or
mentally ill. Whether he had been abused himself or whether he had anger
management issues; he was an adult. He made a choice. He knew the difference
between right and wrong. He knew he was causing pain to another human being;
and he did it anyway. He always, ALWAYS had a choice not to do it. He could
have resolved his problems in any number of ways. But he didn’t. Whether you
simply didn’t wash the pots or whether he found you in bed with his brother and
best friend at the same time, he had NO RIGHT to abuse you. Whether you behaved
badly or were the model wife, whether you cowered in a corner or argued back,
he CHOSE his reaction, he CHOSE abuse. Not you. You are not to blame. He is.
100%<br />
<br />
And don’t let anybody EVER tell you differently.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Love<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC";">Sally Hope</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you haven't already click the tab at the top of this post to read the rest of the 'abuse is not' series</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC";"><o:p></o:p></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC63bMWgC8Ba0N_KOrO_JyAMg7kfY-LxOjGvcidYbZGjiT6ktrYCnkxUgFwHckrCGgaXbpM_w82EtfA296fE7SHNPK9CF7ZdKII_eLvk09wlpMBK70GwMndxunkjuQeJoLjvY83IPow/s1600/101_1053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC63bMWgC8Ba0N_KOrO_JyAMg7kfY-LxOjGvcidYbZGjiT6ktrYCnkxUgFwHckrCGgaXbpM_w82EtfA296fE7SHNPK9CF7ZdKII_eLvk09wlpMBK70GwMndxunkjuQeJoLjvY83IPow/s1600/101_1053.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">When
he was five my son came home from school with a letter telling me he was going
to be having sex education lessons. Wondering exactly what they were going to
teach my tiny weeney little boy I went into school in advance to watch the dvd
they were showing.<br />
<br />
It was nothing really, it just told them that mummy and daddy have different
body parts and you need to have both to make a baby. It then told them that we
may be different from one another but difference is good. I remember thinking
my son would probably sit in front of it thinking “I’m going to be a fire
engine when I grow up” or something equally as random and unrelated to the DVD.
<br />
<br />
I believe that at some point in his school career though he will get some “proper
sex education.” Our schools quite rightly tell our children
that if they have sex without using a condom they can end up with babies and
sexually transmitted diseases.<br />
<br />
But sex and relationships are so intertwined why don’t schools teach our
children what a healthy relationship looks like? If we can tell children that
if you have sex without a condom you’ll probably get pregnant why can’t we tell
them that if you have sex without respect you’ll probably get hurt?<br />
<br />
In a country that speaks to girls about sexual relationships from the age of 5
why is it that 25% of those girls grow up to be trapped in abusive
relationships? In a country that speaks to boys about sexual relationships from
the age of 5 why is it that so many of those boys grow up to be abusers?<br />
<br />
I’ve always believed we should talk to children about love and respect, about
what a healthy relationship looks like. I’ve always thought that if we teach
our young girls to demand respect from their sexual partners, if we build their
self-esteem and self-confidence and teach them that they can say ”yes” safely
but they can also choose to say “no” then we’ll have a much bigger impact on
the rate of unwanted pregnancies which the UK seems to lead the rest of Europe
in.<br />
<br />
But now I also think we need to be teaching girls about the red flags of
domestic violence. I look back at the beginnings of my relationship and in
retrospect see so many red flags, right from day one, that should have rung
alarm bells, and I wonder if I’d been taught those lessons would I have spotted
them and got out sooner?<br />
<br />
I’m a bit stubborn and when I was 19 I liked to think I knew best so there’s a
chance I wouldn’t have. But maybe I would. Maybe other girls would get out
quicker if they knew what to look for….<br />
<br />
And before all my feminist friends tell me off, we also need to educate boys
about abuse. By teaching girls what to expect from a healthy relationship, and
what an unhealthy relationship looks like we will better equip them to escape
abuse. But educating boys not to abuse is the only way to eradicate abuse.
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-4815011940516850632014-06-06T14:34:00.000+01:002014-07-11T19:27:47.696+01:00Learning to love yourself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ouRxOmJbjBYdAPjgWTTN5Vf-KQxkOf68MdllgzgP_ZMGtet51vWpIzAanzRK1uJXTM4HS6g1cXcOwzjhCVeTdZM-ic1MdS0LiJb-OgKdtzq02iiGWOXiUuIbjSYcaEq1H0wkOd3wIQ/s1600/piggy+bank.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ouRxOmJbjBYdAPjgWTTN5Vf-KQxkOf68MdllgzgP_ZMGtet51vWpIzAanzRK1uJXTM4HS6g1cXcOwzjhCVeTdZM-ic1MdS0LiJb-OgKdtzq02iiGWOXiUuIbjSYcaEq1H0wkOd3wIQ/s1600/piggy+bank.JPG" height="318" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I left my husband one thing I have had to learn to do
is to be generous to myself.<br />
<br />
My husband prided himself on his generosity, except it wasn’t, it was just
another way to control me. He would buy something on ebay most days; he’d call
at the supermarket on the way home from work- just to pick up bread, and come
home with bags and bags of treats. I used to dread the postman knocking on the
door because I knew it meant he’d been spending money we didn’t have. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Usually it was clothes he bought me: tight tops, short
skirts, push up bras, lacy knickers. When clothing arrived for me I wasn’t
allowed to question it because that was just “pouring cold water” on his gift.
If I said I didn’t need clothes or I was worried about the money I wasn’t just “being
ungrateful” I was also spoiling the pleasure he claimed he got from being
generous. <br />
<br />
So I had to feign excitement as I tore open the package, I had to smile and say
‘thank you’ for the revealing skirt I didn’t want. And I had to sound
convincing too. Instead of rushing to check the bank account to see how much he’d
caused us to go overdrawn I had to rush upstairs and try it on, there and then,
no matter what I was planning to do at that moment, even if I was tired and about to go to bed, or ill, or on
my period and feeling bloated- fashion parades happened in our house several
times a week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And if it was too small, which it often was I’d feel guilty as he choked back tears and said “well I
bought your size” and then refuse to send it back saying “put it away for when
you lose weight” <br />
<br />
With my husband spending all our money like it was going out of fashion I had
to do the opposite. I never needed clothes or shoes because my wardrobes
(notice the plural, I have one now!) were bursting at the seams, much like the
tiny clothes squashed reluctantly inside them. And I daren’t spend money anyway because I never got to
look at the bank accounts and I never knew how much we had, or didn’t have. But
I did know that with his spending habits we couldn’t have much left. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TUR4o1qjVOELXr3d7ecO54JX6gayucY5aROWpr0UKzWigkVWLVt_j4ZPgLmYizgRonsGb_xLknapBO-zakvjNQB13uqfMJxVmXOxgC0SjHosYC8Yi82aJnP6Civ-RFRM7ESl-uPv4Q/s1600/gift.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TUR4o1qjVOELXr3d7ecO54JX6gayucY5aROWpr0UKzWigkVWLVt_j4ZPgLmYizgRonsGb_xLknapBO-zakvjNQB13uqfMJxVmXOxgC0SjHosYC8Yi82aJnP6Civ-RFRM7ESl-uPv4Q/s1600/gift.JPG" height="265" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So by the time I left my husband I was in the habit of buying myself nothing. This
is something I’ve had to ‘unlearn’ now I regularly treat myself. Just little
things, I get my hair done, I buy clothes I like, I buy myself chocolate and flowers and
ice cream and little knick knacks. The sort of thing I guess that a husband
might buy for his wife, as he saw them and thought of her. I’ve learned to do
that for myself.<br />
<br />
When I was married if a single friend was buying for herself I’d have felt
sorry for her that she had to treat herself, that she didn’t have a husband to
treat her; I’d think “yeah it’s nice but it’s not the same.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was right, it’s not the same.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I treat myself I buy things I like, and that fit; gifts
from me don’t make me feel bad about myself. I am grateful when I buy myself something;
I am grateful that I am able to, and it’s real gratitude, not forced gratitude
for something I don’t want in fear of what will happen if I am truthful about
not liking it. When I buy myself something I don’t feel guilty about the waste
or the money; I buy nice things, that I like, and I budget for them. My spend
doesn’t cause me to worry about savings or the future or anything really. My husband’s
gifts also used to make me feel indebted to him, I’d think “oh he buys me so
many things and I never get anything for him….” When I buy myself something I
don’t feel indebted to anyone. (except maybe the credit card company)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m not just generous to myself in terms of spend, I
have learned to cook myself nice food. In fact this has been important too,
because when I was with my husband I’d cook him lovely food as an act of love
for him, it took me a while to cook for myself with such tenderness. I also give myself time, for relaxing, for
enjoyment and often a bit of pampering. When I was with my husband I didn’t
wear make up because he’d complain if I took too long to get ready, now I enjoy
sitting in front of my mirror playing with my mascara and lippy, it gives me a
boost.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
Acts of generosity are designed to make the receiver feel
loved, to feel special. My husband’s acts of generosity never did that, they
just made me feel worried and guilty. When I treat myself I remind myself that
I am loved. Not just by others but by myself. I no longer waste my energies
trying only to love an unlovable person who rejects and does not reciprocate
love. I no longer put my own needs aside hoping in vain that someone will
notice them. I no longer rely on someone else to fulfil my desires or to
provide for me. I love myself, I care
for myself and I take responsibility for myself.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Whatever your circumstances, it’s important to learn to be kind to yourself in
whatever way makes you happy.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO1nPpFpuc2Lr8kRDBTh7kARkViGrN5uuAzu2lixUBDbdnNsl1_H_fPJK8MceRHpBGM_2B_U8jE7kolEpduLXvWW8agwcCzWChWfxoZwrnqsgYlYEEYz4ED2LZ2YKuN9_HmlBBLsWNA/s1600/be+kind+to+yourself.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO1nPpFpuc2Lr8kRDBTh7kARkViGrN5uuAzu2lixUBDbdnNsl1_H_fPJK8MceRHpBGM_2B_U8jE7kolEpduLXvWW8agwcCzWChWfxoZwrnqsgYlYEEYz4ED2LZ2YKuN9_HmlBBLsWNA/s1600/be+kind+to+yourself.png" height="400" width="310" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-482422090899012347.post-51512313946315925252014-06-04T10:13:00.001+01:002014-07-11T19:28:22.693+01:00Abuse is not.....something that men experience just as much as women. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWsaBmoQa3dORFjthnb4JBPP2DY50iM1rTkthOS_UyXATopQ4ao2maYucXTUFIthw237jM-aSAKvGa_Xc-Q0_xhEGmJ7Yrq8oL5MegZeChlqdcGTIOWVV_EXuwkFE0W_SpHQpx0wT3g/s1600/Abuse+is+not.....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWsaBmoQa3dORFjthnb4JBPP2DY50iM1rTkthOS_UyXATopQ4ao2maYucXTUFIthw237jM-aSAKvGa_Xc-Q0_xhEGmJ7Yrq8oL5MegZeChlqdcGTIOWVV_EXuwkFE0W_SpHQpx0wT3g/s1600/Abuse+is+not.....jpg" height="232" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
Recently an advert from the organisation ‘Mankind Initiative’
who support male victims of domestic abuse has been doing the rounds. The
advert concludes with the statistic that 40% of domestic abuse victims are men.
<br />
<br />
You can read an article about the advert which contains a response to it from Women’s
Aid <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-health/10858831/Domestic-violence-viral-ad-the-real-difference-between-attacks-on-women-and-attacks-on-men.html">here</a>. Please do.<br /><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Mankind Initiative video" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02922/mankind_2922135b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="caption" style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: 1.38em; margin: 0px 5px 0px 0px; text-align: start;">Violence is Violence: a still from the ManKind Initiative video</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div>
Women’s Aid excellently explain that the 40% figure is based on single incidents but that abuse is not about single incidents of violence rather it is about power and control exerted over a period of time. They point out that 89% of those who experience four or more incidents of domestic abuse are female, and of the remaining 11% many are in same sex relationships, rather than men suffering abuse at the hands of women. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It’s not only Women’s Aid who acknowledge that Domestic Abuse is, in the majority of cases, perpetrated by men; Lundy Bancroft is a renowned expert in Domestic Violence, having worked for many years with perpetrators. In his book “Why Does He Do that” he writes: </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Where are the men whose partners are forcing them to have unwanted sex? Where are the men who are fleeing to shelters in fear for their lives? How about the ones who try to get to a phone to call for help, but the women block their way or cut the line? The reason we don’t generally see these men is simple: They’re rare…….Even if abused men didn’t want to come forward, they would have been discovered by now…..Among my physically abusive clients, nearly <i>one third</i> have been arrested as a result of a call to the police that came from someone other than the abused woman. If there were millions of cowed, trembling men out there the police would be finding them. Abusive men commonly like to play the role of victim, and most men who claim to be “battered men” are actually the perpetrators of violence, not the victims.”</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The last point that Bancroft makes, that abusive men often make out they are the victims has been my experience. I look at that statistic of 40% and I realise that it includes my abusive husband as a “victim.” </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After I left my husband it took a couple of weeks for the dawning realisation that I was a victim of abuse to hit me. When it did I had a bit of a meltdown. I foolishly, and naively drove over to his house to confront him (if you are a victim of abuse and leaving your partner don’t EVER do this- it’s very dangerous.) When he told me to ‘get lost’ and slammed the door in my face I was distraught, through my tears and frustration I threw a small handful of gravel at his door. My husband made a malicious call to the police saying I’d broken his window I was arrested and charged with criminal damage, the incident was classed as “domestic” and my husband logged as a victim of domestic violence. Despite the fact that he was actually the perpetrator when we look at the national statistics my husband will appear as a victim. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How many more of this 40% are abusive men who have made malicious complaints playing the victim? (which Bancroft explains is common behaviour among perpetrators) How many of this 40% are men who have sustained injuries as their frightened victim lashes out in defence? How many of them are abusers whose victim has finally snapped and hit back? This is why it is important to look more carefully at statistics, and particularly place more emphasis on repeat calls to the police than single incidents. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In many ways as <a href="http://www.hiddenhurt.co.uk/male_victims_of_domestic_violence.html">hidden hurt</a> point out, it doesn’t really matter whether more perpetrators of abuse are male or female:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“ We know that there are many men who DO experience Domestic Abuse at some stage in their lives, and whether there are 1000 or 100,000 per year in the UK alone doesn't make any difference to the individual suffering and fear and pain experienced by any one man in an abusive relationship. What is important, is that their suffering is taken seriously, and that support and help is available when needed, regardless of gender.”</blockquote>
<div>
But let’s not kid ourselves and buy into myths that abuse doesn’t discriminate on the basis of gender- it does. And sometimes, by buying into the notion that men suffer abuse as much as women we unwittingly enable those perpetrators who like to play the victim. We also fail to provide adequate levels of funding for female victims; if female victims account for 80% then the majority of refuge spaces need to be available to women, the majority of support groups and support services need to be made available to women. Of course every abuse victim needs to be supported regardless of gender, but in order to do that we do need to be aware of who the victims are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>If you are a male victim of Domestic abuse you can contact the men’s advice line run by <a href="http://respect.uk.net/work/male-victims-of-domestic-violence/">Respect</a> on 08088010327. </b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b>Finally you can<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Why-Does-He-That-Controlling/dp/0425191656/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1401825949&sr=1-1&keywords=why+does+he+do+that"> buy Lundy Bancroft’s book here</a>. It is an excellent read, incredibly insightful and informative, if you only want to read one book about Domestic Abuse read this one.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">Please check out the rest of the Abuse is not series by clicking on the tab at the top of this post</span></b></div>
</div>
<span style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></span>Sally Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12696438313259434940noreply@blogger.com2