Dearest Peggy,
February 4, 2016
I want to tell you a story. You know the story well, but I want to tell you how the story ends. It's a story of harrowing encounters, devastating trials and tribulations, and overwhelmingly happy triumphs and successes. The story begins with a tiny, innocent little girl with dark hair and Caribbean-green eyes. She was born into a family of preexisting chaos. Perhaps, in all honesty, one could say that the little girl never really had a chance at a "normal" life. The heartache began while this girl was still very young; hers was a world of unstable, irresponsible parents: a substance abusing mother and perpetually absent father. Her mother was the only caretaker the girl ever knew and she loved her desperately and worried about her constantly. She would go into her mother's closet when she was missing her and sit with her face buried inside the armful of her mother's clothes just so she could smell her. This tiny girl's view of the world and the people in it, was shaken to the core when she was only six years old. She was raped, tortured, abandoned, neglected, abused and cast out by her very own family, who always complained that the little girl cried too much, was too needy. The little girl felt hopelessly alone, unlovable, and desperately afraid for many, many years. These emotions were sewn into the fabric of her life.
As the little girl grew into a teen, the repercussions of the many years of keeping all those dirty secrets began to leak into her life, causing insecurities, depression, and an underlying fear that resided just beneath the surface of the façade she always tried to portray. The girl tried to compensate for these feelings by overachieving in school and staying out of trouble, as to not call unnecessary attention to herself. She swore off ever having kids of her own and made a commitment to herself to never become anything like her own mother. She graduated from high school with honors and set out on her path to college and a career in teaching.
At 19, the girl met a warm and compassionate man who gave her comfort and security, and they were married. Though she fought to keep the memories at bay, there were times when they swallowed her up and she simply could not ignore them. The very first time the girl ever told anyone about the atrocities she had endured was not until she was 20 years old. She walked into that very first therapy session, sat across from a complete stranger, and blurted the words, "I think I was abused and I had sex with my own brother!" There!! She had finally said it. Now, she would begin to heal and everything would be ok. You see? All the girl ever really wanted was to just be ok.
That was the day her journey to heal the broken little girl inside began. She continued in therapy for three years with the woman who had once been a stranger, but who now knew her better than anyone else. This was also the time when the girl decided that she needed to tell her mother the truth. During that torturous hour, the girl stared at her shoes, tears streaming down her face, as she listened to her therapist tell her mother the few details she had recounted. When the therapist was finished, the girl's mother looked directly at her, wearing no expression on her face, and said flatly, "I'm sorry. I just don't believe you," and then got up and exited the room. The girl felt as if she was being victimized and betrayed all over again. She vowed that day that she would never speak of her experiences with her mother ever again!
As the young woman relocated to begin her teaching career, she faced the arduous task of finding a new therapist to help guide her along the way. She tried one out for a little while, but just didn't find the connection and trust she was looking for. Then, the young woman met you. You were the leader of the DBT group the girl attended. The girl responded to you. She thought you were kind, empathetic, smart, and funny. One evening after the group had adjourned, the young woman was upset about something, and you came out to discover her sitting on a curb in the parking lot, and she was crying. You told her that it was ok to cry and that you would offer her a tissue, but you didn't want her to mistake the gesture as you telling her to clean herself up. You gave her permission to feel what she was feeling, and to look ugly if she so chose. Soon after, the young woman began to see you regularly. Those early days were tough for both. The young woman had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and tended to have extreme reactions and intense emotions. The young woman put up walls around the core issues and instead, acted like a rebellious, willful, and "bratty" teen. She was not willing to even try new coping skills which would sometimes frustrate you.
About a year into therapy with the young woman, you told her she had Bipolar II. The young woman thought you had lost your mind; she knew what Bipolar was, and that was NOT her! You pulled out a folder from your files and gave her some information about the differences in Bipolar I and II. And then you did something that no one before you had ever been brave enough to do. You looked the young woman in the eye and you said, "That is my diagnosis, too." The amount of hope and acceptance and respect the young woman felt in that moment was overwhelming. She compared herself with you, thinking, "If Peggy lives with this and is successful and productive, then I can be too." It gave the young woman something positive and hopeful to hold onto.
So year after year, you continued to see the young woman. You helped her navigate the ins and outs of living with a mood disorder, the almost two straight years of a severe anxiety disorder, and walking her through the complex system of the family she grew up in. You stood beside her at the first sign of a budding pain pill addiction and helped her learn to have compassion and forgiveness for herself. You stuck with her through a few ER visits when she felt like she just couldn't hold on any longer and begged for death to take her.
And just when you thought that the turmoil was going to last forever, things began to turn around. The young woman found peace, and dare I say it, happiness. She changed her mind about having children, and soon found herself pregnant. You supported her through a devastating miscarriage, and rejoiced in the new pregnancy that followed shortly after. You practically held her upright when the baby was born so dangerously premature, and checked in with her weekly between the 90 mile trips to Roseville to visit the baby in the NICU every single day! The young woman emailed you from her hospital bed after she had been in a devastating car accident, and you sent her your kindest, most encouraging words. You held doors open for her while she navigated the skinny hallways in her wheelchair. You celebrated every ounce the baby gained, willing her and her mama to be strong and keep fighting.
Then, you watched the young woman's terror as she began to relive traumatic memories every night in her dreams. You listened to the young woman's story and bore witness to her suffering. You heard tales of three separate suicide attempts in four months that landed the young woman in the ER. You knew about the young woman handing her eight month old baby over to a surgeon who would stop and cut open her tiny heart; the most paralyzing fear she had ever known. You were witness to the greatest mistake the young woman had ever made when she was arrested for a DUI with her tiny baby buckled up in the back seat, recovering from open-heart surgery. You felt her guilt and shame and fear about all that surrounded the incident. You gently urged the young woman to ask for help in regards to her substance abuse issues. You were there when she finally made the terrifying decision to go to CDRP, one of the bravest endeavors she ever took on. You celebrated every major milestone of her recovery: 30 days turned into 90, turned into 6 months, and then turned into what is now 18 months!
And in the end, always looking out for the young woman's best interests, you recommended she see a new therapist to get a better handle on all of the myriad of trauma issues that are still ruling her existence.
Peggy, I am that tiny, little girl, that overly-sensitive teen, and that young woman with all those scars. It is now my duty to glue all three of those identities together as one, fill in the cracks, cover up the scratches, and put a fresh coat of paint on the reassembled woman who I am today. I accept the challenge that I am faced with presently. And I will tell you with 100% certainty, this story will have a happy ending. In fact, in many ways, it already does.
How do you thank someone for ultimately saving your life and feeding you what you need to survive for the past 12 years? In my opinion, there are not sufficient words to do the job. You have given me hope when I felt all was lost, strength when I couldn't stand on my own, encouragement when I wanted to quit, love when I felt unlovable, stability in the midst of chaos, validation when I felt ashamed, and acceptance when I felt judged. To say that are important in my life is just not accurate. You have made such an incredibly powerful impact on my life that you have actually shaped and molded the woman I have become. A woman who I can be proud of; a woman my daughter can be proud of. I will always carry you with me in my heart. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for all that you have shared with me and all you have done for me! You will continue to be a fixture in my life for now and forever.
I love you!
