The year 2003 turned out to be a big one for me. I never could have imagined the amount of change that one year could produce, from agony to joy. Towards the end of my junior year I knew I had a big decision to make. My parents were pushing me to get a degree in engineering by signing up for Augustana's 3-2 program with U of I or another school. In this program, I would leave Augustana to attend the other school, ending up with degrees from both schools - one in physics, the other in engineering. But I had always felt a pull towards teaching. I applied for an internship for the summer at the University of Minnesota to see what technical engineering would be like. Despite having only a background in physics, I was accepted and my parents drove me up at the beginning of June. The internship was meant to be 8 weeks and I would get paid $4000, plus live on campus for free. It seemed like an awesome opportunity. I would be home just in time for my sister's wedding even.
Everything seemed to be okay for the first week or so. I was making some new friends, following the summer workout plan, had joined a summer soccer league, and was mostly enjoying the new work. But then the anxiety mounted. I had trouble sleeping as the nightmares returned. I hadn't shared with anyone there what had happened to me and I didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone. Family came out to visit, and spending time with them helped a little. Jon and I had met the previous summer and were in a strong relationship at that point. So he came and visited over the 4th of July weekend. I agreed to give it one more week, but he saw that I was emotionally crumbling.
I spoke with those in charge of the program about my options. I shared with them the reason behind my difficulties and they tried to work with me. They offered to move me into a bedroom at someone's house to see if that would help. But I knew that what I needed was to be surrounded by my loved ones and I needed to talk to a therapist. Quitting that internship was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made. And part of me honestly still questions if I did the right thing.
The weekend after July 4th, my parents came out and brought me home. That next week I made an appointment to see a therapist that was recommended by a family member. She was a social worker and clearly trained differently than the psychiatrist I had seen previously. Jon drove me and sat in the car so that I would have him afterwards. Over the course of several sessions we mapped out the relationships in my family and I became comfortable. I was then able to share with her the sadness, shame, and frustration that originated from the date rape. Deciding to see that therapist and the way she helped me re-frame everything was a major turning point for me and allowed me to take back my life.
The biggest difference from the psychiatrist I had previously seen was that I was ready to work through everything. I decided I was ready to put in the work and let go of the emotions I was hiding. And I am so glad that I made that decision. Through the help of the therapist, my family, and Jon I was able to turn the corner in my life and see that I was not responsible for what had happened. I know I will forever carry this scar and in a few years will have to share the experience with both kids in discussing the dangers that lie ahead. But because I took the time to sort through everything, it will be okay. I wouldn't wish the experience on anyone, but I do believe I am stronger for working through the aftermath. I wish I would have done so right away instead of waiting 3 years.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
Breast Cancer
I don't remember the exact timing of the announcement from my mother. But I do remember the day of her surgery. During a self exam, my mom found a small lump in her breast. She went into the doctor and they did further testing and determined that it was indeed breast cancer. My mom went in for the removal and they removed some lymph nodes to be tested. I remember the phone call on the day of the surgery like it was yesterday.
I was at Augustana for preseason soccer. Typically, the coaching staff required all phones to be silenced and left in our bags on the sidelines. They understandably didn't want any distractions during our practices. But the coach made an exception when I explained to him that I needed to be able to be reached. So I gave my phone to the trainers so they could call me over if it rang. At the end of practice, my phone rang. I don't remember who in my family I spoke to, but they told me that the cancer was found in the lymph nodes. After I hung up, I collapsed onto the field and cried. My mom was only 53, not old enough to be dealing with cancer yet. My teammates gathered around me and some of us prayed together. I got in my car after practice to return home for a few days.
As a sophomore in college, I was only 18. Selfishly, I imagined how much my mom would miss if I lost her. When I was 13 I had lost my grandmother, her mom, to complications from her breast cancer treatment. It was hard to believe that only 5 years later we were about to head down a similar road. I did know that many advancements had been made and my mom was several years younger than my grandmother had been. But this was hard news to handle.
I went home to be with my family as we found out the plans moving forward. I don't remember what happened during that time but I know my head was spinning. I helped my mom recover from her surgery for a few days and then headed back to school. There wasn't much I could do as she faced radiation and began taking Tamoxifen. I wish I could have been home though to sit with her and hug her more. Somehow I was able to focus on soccer and school and be okay with just checking in on her treatment.
My mom was emotionally scarred from everything she went through. After a double mastectomy, she was also physically scarred. I don't think she ever fully recovered, battling with body image issues on and off for her remaining years. I think about all of this often and have looked into genetic screening but my insurance company has denied the testing. So for now I am left to rely on God's timing for everything along with striving to live a healthy, balanced life.
I was at Augustana for preseason soccer. Typically, the coaching staff required all phones to be silenced and left in our bags on the sidelines. They understandably didn't want any distractions during our practices. But the coach made an exception when I explained to him that I needed to be able to be reached. So I gave my phone to the trainers so they could call me over if it rang. At the end of practice, my phone rang. I don't remember who in my family I spoke to, but they told me that the cancer was found in the lymph nodes. After I hung up, I collapsed onto the field and cried. My mom was only 53, not old enough to be dealing with cancer yet. My teammates gathered around me and some of us prayed together. I got in my car after practice to return home for a few days.
As a sophomore in college, I was only 18. Selfishly, I imagined how much my mom would miss if I lost her. When I was 13 I had lost my grandmother, her mom, to complications from her breast cancer treatment. It was hard to believe that only 5 years later we were about to head down a similar road. I did know that many advancements had been made and my mom was several years younger than my grandmother had been. But this was hard news to handle.
I went home to be with my family as we found out the plans moving forward. I don't remember what happened during that time but I know my head was spinning. I helped my mom recover from her surgery for a few days and then headed back to school. There wasn't much I could do as she faced radiation and began taking Tamoxifen. I wish I could have been home though to sit with her and hug her more. Somehow I was able to focus on soccer and school and be okay with just checking in on her treatment.
My mom was emotionally scarred from everything she went through. After a double mastectomy, she was also physically scarred. I don't think she ever fully recovered, battling with body image issues on and off for her remaining years. I think about all of this often and have looked into genetic screening but my insurance company has denied the testing. So for now I am left to rely on God's timing for everything along with striving to live a healthy, balanced life.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Deep Dark Depression
I made it through my freshman year of college, not getting real close to anyone and trying to figure out what was going on inside of me. I played soccer but didn't seem to quite fit in with the team. I joined Intervarsity but with the struggle inside I never really felt connected. I met a few boys and found one I ended up dating for a bit at the end of year.
As the school year ended and I was preparing to go home, I sank deeper and deeper into a dark depression. With no soccer to cling to and my boyfriend pledging a fraternity so with little free time, I had a very rough spring. My grades dropped and there were times I thought I wouldn't make it. At one point I sat in my room with a bottle of pills and considered taking them all. I don't remember what they were. Another point I looked at my razor in the shower and thought how easy it would be to just end the pain. But every time I instantly thought about my niece and nephew, who were just toddlers. I tried to imagine how anyone would explain to them what happened to me. And from there I thought about the pain I would be causing others. And with that, I just stuffed everything deeper.
I came home from school and awaited my final term grades. I knew I was close to keeping my scholarship, but needed to maintain a 3.25 to do so. A few days after coming home, my boyfriend and I broke up. Then I found out my grades, a 3.21 for the year, just shy of what I needed. I thought I would lose all of my scholarship and wasn't sure how I was going to pay for school. The pain just cut deeper and deeper. On the phone with my then ex-boyfriend (I don't know why I was talking to him) I told him I just wanted to kill myself. He hung up on me and I decided to go for a run to work through everything. Apparently, he hung up to call the police. Shortly thereafter, a police officer rang the doorbell. I considered not answering since nobody else was home. But I realized they probably wouldn't go away.
It was that day I started to get some of the help I needed. Once I let the police officers in, they insisted I get my parents to come home. I don't remember who called them, but they did come home. Then, I informed the police of everything that had happened. And for the first time, I told my parents. My mom's reaction was the hardest, as she seemed to take it personally. Once my parents were home and I convinced the police officers I would be okay, they left. My parents pulled up psychiatrist contacts and we made an appointment. I was reluctant to go, but wasn't given much of a choice.
At that point, I wasn't really ready for help. I met with the psychiatrist, but his solution was medication. I wasn't interested in that. I was really hurting inside and felt I had a good reason for it. I didn't feel comfortable with this psychiatrist and convinced my parents I was okay, so I never went back. I stuffed all the hurt back inside and focused on the little girls I was babysitting and getting in shape for soccer that summer. I kept trying to figure out how to let the pain escape and did find some relief with exercising. I think that is how I made it through the summer of 2001. I ended the summer with our family trip to Maui, completing my summer soccer workouts on the sand in the sun. I was getting ready to head into a better year and I knew I could focus on soccer and school that fall. I had no idea what God had in store for me as he continued to try and draw me closer.
As the school year ended and I was preparing to go home, I sank deeper and deeper into a dark depression. With no soccer to cling to and my boyfriend pledging a fraternity so with little free time, I had a very rough spring. My grades dropped and there were times I thought I wouldn't make it. At one point I sat in my room with a bottle of pills and considered taking them all. I don't remember what they were. Another point I looked at my razor in the shower and thought how easy it would be to just end the pain. But every time I instantly thought about my niece and nephew, who were just toddlers. I tried to imagine how anyone would explain to them what happened to me. And from there I thought about the pain I would be causing others. And with that, I just stuffed everything deeper.
I came home from school and awaited my final term grades. I knew I was close to keeping my scholarship, but needed to maintain a 3.25 to do so. A few days after coming home, my boyfriend and I broke up. Then I found out my grades, a 3.21 for the year, just shy of what I needed. I thought I would lose all of my scholarship and wasn't sure how I was going to pay for school. The pain just cut deeper and deeper. On the phone with my then ex-boyfriend (I don't know why I was talking to him) I told him I just wanted to kill myself. He hung up on me and I decided to go for a run to work through everything. Apparently, he hung up to call the police. Shortly thereafter, a police officer rang the doorbell. I considered not answering since nobody else was home. But I realized they probably wouldn't go away.
It was that day I started to get some of the help I needed. Once I let the police officers in, they insisted I get my parents to come home. I don't remember who called them, but they did come home. Then, I informed the police of everything that had happened. And for the first time, I told my parents. My mom's reaction was the hardest, as she seemed to take it personally. Once my parents were home and I convinced the police officers I would be okay, they left. My parents pulled up psychiatrist contacts and we made an appointment. I was reluctant to go, but wasn't given much of a choice.
At that point, I wasn't really ready for help. I met with the psychiatrist, but his solution was medication. I wasn't interested in that. I was really hurting inside and felt I had a good reason for it. I didn't feel comfortable with this psychiatrist and convinced my parents I was okay, so I never went back. I stuffed all the hurt back inside and focused on the little girls I was babysitting and getting in shape for soccer that summer. I kept trying to figure out how to let the pain escape and did find some relief with exercising. I think that is how I made it through the summer of 2001. I ended the summer with our family trip to Maui, completing my summer soccer workouts on the sand in the sun. I was getting ready to head into a better year and I knew I could focus on soccer and school that fall. I had no idea what God had in store for me as he continued to try and draw me closer.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Teenage Dangers
This post is difficult to write, it will be the most difficult of all the posts I will write. And I think that's because I truly had no control over this situation and it has had the most prolonged impact on my life. I realize it may also be difficult for quite a few to read, so proceed with caution.
I graduated from high school in June of 2000 at the age of 17. I had a high gpa, score of 32 on the ACT, was set to attend Augustana College as a physics major in the fall, and was signed up for a missions trip to Venezuela. I enjoyed the few weeks between graduation and time to leave for my trip. The night before I left for Texas where I would receive the training I needed before going to Venezuela, the unthinkable happened. It started as a typical night, hanging out with a group of friends from church, including a boy I had been romantic with on and off. Looking back I can't even remember if we were really dating. As the night went on, we all hung out in the basement at my house where my parents had put a pool table, we had a dart board, and we had a tv with cable. Some friends left at various times, wishing me luck on the missions trip and reminding me they would be praying for me. The last person to leave was a boy, I didn't see this as a problem as we had spent countless hours together and were very close friends.
At some point we started kissing each other and he pushed it further. I pushed his hands away but he didn't seem to get it. I don't remember the details as luckily that has faded over the years. But that night, the purity I had worked through high school to preserve was taken from me. I was a physically strong, 17 year old girl but was no match for a 17 year old boy that had one thing on his mind. When he was done, he left. I walked him to the front door and locked it behind him. I was too shocked to do anything but go to sleep and not share with anyone. The next morning I got on a plane for Texas, reeling inside about how God could let this happen when I was giving him 10 days of my life to spread his word to another country.
Much of the missions trip ended up as a blur as I struggled inside my head with what was going on. In Texas we learned plays that we would perform in Venezuela. I met some awesome teens that were on fire for God, but just felt disconnected. I helped translate in the airport to get us to our destination without extra fees. I was doing a pretty good job of compartmentalizing and focusing on the goal at hand. The kids we came across were pretty cute and there was minimal downtime anyway. We did a lot of praying on the trip, but I felt quite distant from God. After 7 days in country, we returned to Texas for a debriefing and then I returned home to Chicago.
I returned home and shared everything about the trip with my friends at church, ignoring what had happened before I left. About a month later I packed up my life and my parents moved me in to Jenny Lind wing at Augustana College so I could participate in preseason for soccer. I met some great girls that I am still in contact with and tried to force myself to just be in the present. I thought I could stuff down what happened, that if I ignored it, it could be as though nothing really happened. But the fallout from this summer would last for years to come. And any time there are stories in the news about rape victims, everything comes flooding back. I never thought it could happen to me, and I certainly never thought it could happen in my own basement with my parents asleep 2 floors above. I have not decided when/how this will be shared with our children, but I know at some point I will share with them, especially my daughter. At the same time, this whole incident may be why I'm perfectly happy to have enough space in our house without finishing the basement.
I graduated from high school in June of 2000 at the age of 17. I had a high gpa, score of 32 on the ACT, was set to attend Augustana College as a physics major in the fall, and was signed up for a missions trip to Venezuela. I enjoyed the few weeks between graduation and time to leave for my trip. The night before I left for Texas where I would receive the training I needed before going to Venezuela, the unthinkable happened. It started as a typical night, hanging out with a group of friends from church, including a boy I had been romantic with on and off. Looking back I can't even remember if we were really dating. As the night went on, we all hung out in the basement at my house where my parents had put a pool table, we had a dart board, and we had a tv with cable. Some friends left at various times, wishing me luck on the missions trip and reminding me they would be praying for me. The last person to leave was a boy, I didn't see this as a problem as we had spent countless hours together and were very close friends.
At some point we started kissing each other and he pushed it further. I pushed his hands away but he didn't seem to get it. I don't remember the details as luckily that has faded over the years. But that night, the purity I had worked through high school to preserve was taken from me. I was a physically strong, 17 year old girl but was no match for a 17 year old boy that had one thing on his mind. When he was done, he left. I walked him to the front door and locked it behind him. I was too shocked to do anything but go to sleep and not share with anyone. The next morning I got on a plane for Texas, reeling inside about how God could let this happen when I was giving him 10 days of my life to spread his word to another country.
Much of the missions trip ended up as a blur as I struggled inside my head with what was going on. In Texas we learned plays that we would perform in Venezuela. I met some awesome teens that were on fire for God, but just felt disconnected. I helped translate in the airport to get us to our destination without extra fees. I was doing a pretty good job of compartmentalizing and focusing on the goal at hand. The kids we came across were pretty cute and there was minimal downtime anyway. We did a lot of praying on the trip, but I felt quite distant from God. After 7 days in country, we returned to Texas for a debriefing and then I returned home to Chicago.
I returned home and shared everything about the trip with my friends at church, ignoring what had happened before I left. About a month later I packed up my life and my parents moved me in to Jenny Lind wing at Augustana College so I could participate in preseason for soccer. I met some great girls that I am still in contact with and tried to force myself to just be in the present. I thought I could stuff down what happened, that if I ignored it, it could be as though nothing really happened. But the fallout from this summer would last for years to come. And any time there are stories in the news about rape victims, everything comes flooding back. I never thought it could happen to me, and I certainly never thought it could happen in my own basement with my parents asleep 2 floors above. I have not decided when/how this will be shared with our children, but I know at some point I will share with them, especially my daughter. At the same time, this whole incident may be why I'm perfectly happy to have enough space in our house without finishing the basement.
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Trials Make Us Who We Are
Nobody enjoys difficult times, we always wish we could rush through them. Looking back on the first 17 years of my life as an "adult," I see all the difficult times I have waded through and how it has shaped me into the person I am today. God has truly made diamonds out of dust in my life, for out of the mire has emerged an abundant life. I hope by sharing some of the trials I have waded through I can provide hope to others that they will come out on the other side, a new person refined by the fire they have endured. The quicker we can turn to God in times of trouble, the easier the burdens are to bear. I know that there are more difficulties ahead, but with a more solid foundation in God I hope they will be easier to face.
I will admit I had a pretty easy childhood. The baby of 5 children, I had 2 loving parents that were quite involved in all of our lives while also giving us space. Both of my parents were well known within the community, volunteering as coaches and as part of the PTA. We were raised in the Catholic church but allowed to choose our own church after confirmation. Three of us chose to attend an Assembly of God church for a while, where we developed a different relationship with God than had been taught to us as children.
I watched some of my siblings deal with difficult things as they got older and I chose to learn from their struggles. We all went through some minor difficult times - broken bones, car accidents, broken relationships. But as we got older these difficult times seemed to only grow. Looking back it seems like God has tried to call me to Him throughout my adult life, helping me to learn about Him through every trial. I hope by sharing the pain and anguish that I worked my way through, I can help at least one other person to move a little more quickly through their own trials to the peace that God can provide to those that truly seek Him.
I will admit I had a pretty easy childhood. The baby of 5 children, I had 2 loving parents that were quite involved in all of our lives while also giving us space. Both of my parents were well known within the community, volunteering as coaches and as part of the PTA. We were raised in the Catholic church but allowed to choose our own church after confirmation. Three of us chose to attend an Assembly of God church for a while, where we developed a different relationship with God than had been taught to us as children.
I watched some of my siblings deal with difficult things as they got older and I chose to learn from their struggles. We all went through some minor difficult times - broken bones, car accidents, broken relationships. But as we got older these difficult times seemed to only grow. Looking back it seems like God has tried to call me to Him throughout my adult life, helping me to learn about Him through every trial. I hope by sharing the pain and anguish that I worked my way through, I can help at least one other person to move a little more quickly through their own trials to the peace that God can provide to those that truly seek Him.
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