Surviving Myself: One Woman’S Journey from Fear and Hate to Love and Empowerment

By Laura Quinn

"Surviving Myself is a descriptive autobiography of one womans journey through disgracing portal of terror. Her determination to stay open to survival is inspiring. She discovers the will to choose a healthy spiritual way of seeing life; which has given to her the realization that the right and perfect relationship is within our capacity to forgive."

- Patty Luckenback, MA, DD., author of Land of Tears is a Secret Place and Kingdom of Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Feb 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452544267

Laura Quinn

Laura Quinn began writing as a teen, growing up in Denver, Colorado. After many years of putting her writing dreams aside to pursue family, a corporate career, and training in healing modalities that focus on releasing the past and leading a more empowered life, she has returned to her love of writing. Her greatest desire is to support others in reclaiming their dreams and goals by stepping out of fear and into thriving.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

A note for mom

About the Author

With special gratitude to: my sister, Susan.

You’re one of my heroes and

I never would have made it without you.

Chapter One

THE CAVE OF DOUBT

I was eight years old when I began to wonder if I had a sign on my forehead, invisible to me, but not to others. A sign that said; I’m an easy target, or Take advantage of me, or maybe, I want grown men to rape me and my mother to blame me. I couldn’t see the sign but it had to be there. What other reason could there be? I certainly wasn’t asking to be used. I would never have even known, or thought of these cruel actions had they not happened. So there had to be something about me that caused men to physically and sexually abuse me. It was my fault. My mother even said it was.

How does a six year old entice a grown man, married to her mother, to take her into the bathroom in the middle of the night? How does an eight year old convince another man married to her mother, in spite of pushing him away, that she wants to perform oral sex on him? This, of course, wasn’t my intention, yet somehow I had apparently convinced these two jerks that it was. I assumed there was something wrong with me. I thought it was my fault. I believed I was doing something that was forcing these men to take these horrible actions against me. I also thought it was something all little girls learned to do. But, if that was true, and there was nothing wrong with it, then why did it make me feel so ugly, dirty, and unloved? With that last thought in mind, why would I later in life think every time a man wanted my body I was loved?

I had so many questions. Questions I now understand a young girl should not have to ask. However, since I also knew a life where I was safe and loved, I began to compare the two lives. One life began when I was a few months old and I was sent to live with my paternal grandparents. The second life began when I was five and sent back to live with my mother. Two different lives. As I grew older I became increasingly grateful for those first years with my grandparents. Had I not had their loving care I would never have known as a child, that there could be that kind of love and acceptance. If I hadn’t been allowed to go back and visit them a couple of times during later summers, I might have believed that once a child reached a certain age, love and fun just weren’t allowed anymore.

I didn’t really think about which life was right and which was wrong. What I wanted to know was, how I had changed. How had moving from a small town in Kansas with my grandparents, to the big city of Denver with my mother turn me into a different person? I didn’t understand why I was considered cute and adorable while living with my grandparents and stupid, untalented and worthless while living with my mother. What had changed in me? Why wasn’t I lovable anymore? Was there anything I could do to change myself back? I was confused, hurt and sad. And I knew there had to be something wrong with me.

Many things happened as I was growing up that I believe helped create my character and what I call the Cave of Doubt. The Cave of Doubt was the place I would crawl into to criticize myself for being bad, stupid, ugly, or just not good enough. The Cave of Doubt is that deep, dark place within all of us that screams: What makes you think you can do that? What makes you think you’re good enough? You’re not smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough. At some point in time there may have been something you were trying to do and someone told you that you were doing it wrong, or they pushed you aside and showed you how it should be done. As adults we have a choice whether or not to feel bad about ourselves. However, as children most of us don’t realize we have choices; so when someone tells us something about ourselves, we tend to believe them. After all, why would they lie to us?

As a child, every time someone said something negative, or what I deemed as unsupportive, I took a step closer to that Cave of Doubt. Soon, I was living the life of a cave dweller, filling myself with self-doubt, condemnation, and negative harmful thoughts. I no longer needed other people to say negative things to me, because I did such a great job myself. I stored every negative word I ever heard, or thought I heard, and I kept it waiting and ready to pull out and use at a moments notice.

How do I escape the Cave of Doubt? I asked myself over and over. How do I move on with my life and make it what I want instead of what someone else wants? Each person who may ask themselves these questions has a different way of answering them. Everyone must find his or her own way. This story tells you how I found mine. Actually, how I started to find mine, because I truly believe that it’s a continuous journey. I took steps into that cave, and I took steps out. It wasn’t one giant leap. However, now and then, when I was paying attention, I took a larger step; a small leap if you will. For some people, there are steps out of the cave and then quick jumps backward to the false safety of the dark, until they remember for the umpteenth time that the dark is not where they want to live. As mere humans, we must learn our lessons before we can begin to spend more and more time in the light.

My desire is that as you read this book, that I help you in some way to take that step, small leap, or huge lunge out of your Cave of Doubt and into a life of limitless possibilities. Because I know you can do it. I used to believe it when I was told that I would never amount to anything. I’ve met many people who have allowed the comments of others to affect how they feel about themselves. I know how easy it is to believe the remarks other people make and then beat myself up because of those observations. Eventually I learned I didn’t have to believe what other people said. If a stubborn person like me can change, then, if you want to, you can too.

There are many people who have been through much worse than I have. My heart aches when I hear their stories. I would love for people to understand that no matter what the hurt has been, no matter if it was mild or severe, each person can find a way to move beyond that pain. Each of us can find our own way to let go of the hurt. If I can help you to understand that even if you don’t fully forgive, if you are willing to forgive, and willing to allow yourself to let go of what happened, you can begin living a life without the pain. If you concentrate on your own actions, then you may discover that the past will no longer hurt, you can survive those who hurt you and you can survive yourself.

Now days, I don’t step into that dark cold Cave of Doubt when I’m scared or worried. When I sense that it is beginning to appear, I find other ways to deal with my frustration. Sometimes I escape for a day or two to rest and clear my mind. Other times I talk with a friend or take a long walk. Today there is a thick fog hanging in the air and after months of confusion, frustration and stress it’s the perfect time for a walk.

The fog hangs around me, seeming to weave itself between every tree branch. It’s cold, and I’m without anything more than a light sweater. I don’t mind. I love the fog. It somehow comforts me, bringing me peace. That’s what I need right now. Life has been too hectic lately. I had begun to feel as if I were at a breaking point. My body and my emotions have been pushed back and forth in every direction. That old Cave of Doubt had begun to reappear as a shadow in the back of my mind. Walking now, wrapped in the fog, this is the first time in a very long time I feel anywhere even close to calm.

Sometimes I wonder, What will come next? How am I going to accomplish the next goal? How will I make it through the next challenge? During the times of confusion or frustration, I usually prefer to be by myself. Whether I take a walk in the sun or a walk in the fog, it helps me to reconnect to Mother Earth and to the peace and strength that lie within.

I’d like to say I’ve never been a quitter, but there have been times when I’ve given up; like when I gave up on a marriage that was never going to bring anyone any happiness; or when I gave up a job that only brought negativity and anger. I’ve given up being in what appeared to be a great relationship, because I feared I would not survive. I’ve also given up on goals when it became clear to me they were not what my heart and soul really wanted, or I discovered that attempting to accomplish a particular goal would hurt someone else.

Yes, sometimes I’ve given up, but I haven’t given up in the game of life. I will admit though, that there were times I thought about it when I was much younger. Once I became an adult I decided if I could get through what I did as a child, nothing could be bad enough to cause me to give up. Whenever things are tough, I pull myself up by whatever means I can and even if I only take small steps toward the end goal, I force myself to at least take those. It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it has felt nearly impossible. Each time I pushed myself and came out the other side, I felt proud of my accomplishments. I always found some place, some thought or idea that managed to get me back on track. Granted, there were times it was hard to tell that I was back on track. There were a few times when I wondered if I would ever find the track again, but I kept putting forth the effort. For many of us, that is what matters; putting forth any kind of effort until we get it right. I created a saying for myself some years ago: It’s better to have to start over, than never to have started at all. I remind myself of this now and then.

I remind myself of that now, as I face decisions that could mean starting over again. Depending on what decisions I make I could lose my business, my home, or possibly even my marriage. I don’t like starting over. It tends to make me feel as if I wasted a lot of time and energy. Plus, when I’ve worked so hard at something and then it all falls apart, it’s hard not to feel like a failure, or angry.

I’m angry now. That’s why I had to get away for at least a few minutes. I didn’t want to make a decision until I could do so with clear thoughts and a rational mind, rather than an angry reaction.

The fog grows thicker and my surroundings even quieter, and I shiver against the cold. I walk through the fog as if I can wrap it around me and protect myself. Maybe the fog will hide me from the rest of the world just long enough for me to reenergize and regain my control. I close my eyes and breathe in the moist, thick air, envisioning the peace when it enters deep into my body. I don’t know how much time has passed when suddenly I feel renewed! I feel excitement and joy for the first time in months. It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing tangible has really changed in that short time. I still have all the same challenges facing me that I had when I walked into the fog. However, taking that break allowed me to reconnect with my own peace and strength to face life’s confusions and frustrations. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to return immediately. I’ll stay and enjoy the quiet for a bit longer, while breathing in as much tranquility and courage as I can. I want it to last me a while; I need all the strength I can gather, because I have dragons to deal with.

I have to believe that all humans have moments where we really wonder what we’re doing, what we’re going to do next, and how we’re going to do it. I’m fortunate because I’ve been able to take a number of classes that have helped me to see ways that I can move forward. I’m also lucky because as a young girl, I found an inner strength to guide me. It kicked in and helped pull me out of the darkness; a darkness from which, for a time, I thought I would never emerge. I’ve learned how to move past old negative programming and blocks. Occasionally, I still get stuck and I have to revisit ideas from one or more of the classes I’ve taken. I’ve learned to help myself along by re-listening to a tape that may have inspired me, looking over a book that made a difference, taking a walk, getting a massage, going away somewhere quiet for a day, or remembering where my strength comes from.

I would bet you could do that too. Think back on your life and look for those things that brought you the strength, energy, or the inspiration you required to accomplish what you needed to, even when it was something hard or scary. Think about something you may have done that, at the time you thought was nothing, but now looking back, you can be proud that you had the strength to do what you wanted to do.

For me, challenges seem to be all around me right now. The last couple of years have been some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. Do I move? Do I leave? Do I stay? Do I give up again, or do I fight back? Questions are more abundant than answers. Yet somewhere in the back of my mind or deep in my heart, I know… I will find the answers. After all, it’s not the first time I’ve had challenges… or dragons to face.

I want to keep the first part of my life story brief not only because I’ve learned over the years that dwelling on some things does not make them better, but also because there are some people who were involved whom I don’t want to hurt. (Well, admittedly, there have been times when I may have wanted one or two of them hurt; I even had visions of doing some of the hurting myself in a very public, horrible way. Later I realized that even if I had the opportunity and actually did hurt them, it wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing would change. The abuse would not be erased, and they would not become better humans. I would only be adding to the negative feelings being held in my body and mind.) Victims hold on to so much more than perpetrators do. While I don’t feel it’s necessary to reveal every detail, I do want to explain a few things from my youth in order to clarify where I’m coming from and why.

I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard someone say that we choose our parents and the life we are going to have before we come into existence. The person who said it was reading a book and commenting on the contents with another person across the table. I didn’t see or ask about the book, (I couldn’t; we were in a public place, I was very young, and I was not allowed to talk to anyone.) However, I remember wondering, How is that possible? If that’s true, why would I choose this?

It seemed to me that when I was younger all I really wanted was to be loved and accepted by those around me. Children seem to have an innate sense for love. They learn quickly what feels good and what feels bad. After hearing that comment I spent many hours wondering; If we can choose before we get here, then why would I choose to be born into a situation where love seemed as evasive as the gold at the end of a rainbow? Why would I choose to have people around me who used me in ways a child should not be used? Why would I choose to have only one parent, who seemed to dislike me more and more every day? I often thought that the only people who were even remotely glad I was here were my grandmother and grandfather. It seemed that I was a burden to everyone else. I believed that my mother didn’t want me, and my sister, who had to spend too much time taking care of me, saw me only as added responsibility.

I would guess that many of the people reading this book know firsthand about the scars that can be left by the abuses imposed on us by others. I could easily speak of the many verbal abuses I endured from my mother, such as being told that I would . . . never be anything but a slut in the gutter. I could explain about each time I was hit with a fist or belt. I remember one time my mother hit me so hard I flew against the kitchen door, which was held open by a large rock. When I landed against the door it slowed my descent, and fortunately, my head only hit the rock hard enough to give me a horrible headache, rather than split it open. Even though I was angry, and in pain, I was grateful that nothing worse had happened. If I had been truly hurt and she had to take me to a doctor, then she would have been even more furious.

Things that happened to me as a child may have contributed to who I am now as a person and also had a great deal to do with the choices I made as a young adult, but it is the choices I made later that I really believe affected who I have become. I often wish I had had a bit of this insight sooner.

Chapter Two

THE BEGINNING

Though I don’t remember a great deal about the first five years of my life, what I do remember has helped me many times over the years. Sometimes, remembering a warm hug from my grandma, or the laugh and smiles of my grandpa, was the only thing that helped me get through a day that was otherwise filled with emotional hurt, physical pain or anger.

My grandma, Emily was a cook at the elementary school in a very small town in Kansas where we lived. I would walk the half-mile to the school with her, and one of the other cooks would sit me up on a counter to watch as they prepared the food. I was often given a sample of whatever they were cooking, which was especially wonderful when the sample was one of my grandma’s cinnamon rolls. Everything she cooked was good, but her cinnamon rolls were the best. Grandma was not only a great cook she was very good with crafts and sewing. I loved watching her sew and make things. She had one