Golden Girl: One woman's journey to surviving trauma, learning resilience and finding joy

By Heather Anne Bloom

Is it possible for a young woman to endure trauma and survive - even thrive? 

Golden Girl is the remarkable story of a courageous young woman's journey to overcoming the deep losses and injuries of an abusive relationship. The 'golden girl' of the title is Hazel, a delightful, trusting young woman whose innocence and joy are shattered

• Language: English
• Publisher: Impressum
• Release date: May 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648707431

Heather Anne Bloom

Heather Anne Bloom was born in Shimla, summer capital of the British Raj in India. Raised in England, she and her family later settled in Australia. She has worked in the areas of marriage and family counselling for the Anglican Church in Australia, as well as counselling and teaching English to business people and refugees in Germany. She is widowed and the mother of two children: Laurence, the light of her life, and Lorraine, sadly deceased and deeply missed but fondly remembered. Now in retirement, Heather keeps up with her charity work in India, advocates for her son and other disabled people, and writes books. Her belief in a loving God has kept her grounded through many challenging times.

Book preview

GOLDEN GIRL

Heather Anne Bloom

Heather Anne Bloom

One woman’s journey to surviving trauma, learning resilience and finding joy

GOLDEN GIRL

First published in 2020 by Impressum

50 Wimbledon Grove, Garden Suburb NSW 2289 Australia

www.impressum.com.au

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Golden Girl: One Woman’s Journey to Surviving Trauma, Learning Resilience and Finding Joy

Copyright © Heather Anne Bloom 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any other information storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Permission has been granted for reproduction of the following poem on page ix:

R. M. Rilke, ‘Go to the Limits of Your Longing’, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy, New York: Penguin Putnam, 2005.

ISBN: 978-0-6487074-2-4 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-6487074-3-1 (e-book)

Edited by Gina Denholm | Design by Brugel Creative

Endorsements

" Golden Girl is the uplifting story of one girl’s path to overcoming trauma and abuse. Discovering her own strength and resilience of spirit, the protagonist, Hazel, manages to hold onto her true self through horrendous adversity and challenges, drawing us into her story as she goes.

Hazel’s story is striking for how lightly it unfolds in the telling. Readers will quickly become invested in discovering how the future unfolds and a deeply hurt girl begins to heal. The best and worst of people and their use and abuse of power are revealed throughout these pages as Hazel confronts seemingly hopeless situations, making many friends along the way and shocking others with her courage.

Golden Girl offers fascinating insight into the common human struggle to make sense of our circumstances, choices and lack of choices, and how these shape our lives. It brings hope with the message that survival is possible, and joy can flow again, even after immense pain.

~ Lydia Wilson, psychologist

" This is a remarkable story of courage and survival over abuse, disappointment and deep loss. The ‘Golden Girl’ of the title is Hazel, a delightful, outgoing and trusting young woman faced with very difficult decisions at a time in history when compassion was no match for cond emnation.

Hazel inspires readers with her determination to confront challenges and setbacks in a positive, constructive way while avoiding bitterness. Her story also testifies to the triumph of a deep trust in God over circumstances that would defeat many. Hazel manages, despite everything, to ‘cling to her faith in a loving God’, sensing that she is accompanied by God’s abiding presence through the unexpected twists and turns of her life. One senses that without this perspective, Hazel’s life would have been very different.

The reader is taken through Hazel’s young life in the UK with its tribulations and difficulties to the beginnings of a new life in Australia. It is a life plagued with struggle but also full of achievement and fulfilment. The final chapters bring a degree of closure. Not everything in Hazel’s life is resolved, and parts of the story will remain with the reader well beyond the book’s end. Yet the epilogue, a sensitive move beyond narrative to reflection, testifies to a deep sense of liberation, even joy.

Reading this story was profoundly moving.

~ Christiaan Mostert, theologian and Anglican priest

Go to the Limits of Your Longing

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926)

German language mystic poet.

A man who knew suffering.

Acknowledgments

Getting this book out has been a deeply challenging task, but not without its highlights and joys.

I hope I have done justice to the wonderful people who have encouraged and supported me. You know who you are and how deeply grateful I am to have had such friends throughout my life. Being aware of the sensitivities of those who were impacted by the harrowing incidents described in this book, I have changed many names in this narrative, retaining only those who were unlikely to be unsettled by references to the parts they played. In the same spirit, I have lightly disguised certain characteristics.

I have been incredibly fortunate to have an editor like Gina Denholm, who immersed herself in Golden Girl, helping me focus on the relevant details and discard anything that would distract from the story. Her background in psychotherapy, and her empathy and understanding about the impact of post-traumatic stress, were very supportive while I was writing about such sensitive issues.

Thanks go to Father Chris Mostert, who helped me with some theological input and wise advice.

Thanks also to Reverend Lindsay Urwin and members of the Christ Church Brunswick congregation, who have offered me pastoral care, enabling me to persist with the other matters competing for my attention during the past couple of years.

Special thanks to Adrian Nye. And to lovely John, my neighbour, who has been a great comfort to me, especially after the loss of my daughter.

My GP and therapist have helped me keep my equilibrium with their careful attention to my medical care. My circle of friends has kept me connected. With them, I have fun and enjoy my musical and literary pastimes.

I have had an army of guardian angels that seems to find me in whichever situation, country or continent I have inhabited. I do believe I have been watched over in the midst of despair, when I was in fear of my life and also in the everyday kindness of neighbours, friends and random strangers. Even if I didn’t recognise it immediately.

For He will give His angels charge concerning you, to guard you in all your ways. (Psalm 91:11)

Contents

Endorsements vii

Go to the Limits of Your Longing ix

Acknowledgments x

Prologue xvii

PART ONE

Growing Up 3

Teenage Troubles 19

That August 33

Holy Matrimony 44

‘Flaunting Oneself’ 51

Let No Man Put Asunder 56

PART TWO

The Walking Wounded 63

Waifs and Strays 75

Beggars Can’t be Choosers 87

A Rainy Day 93

A New Life 103

A Fly in the Ointment 110

PART THREE

‘It’s a Wonderful World’ 121

A Proper Courtship 127

Wedded Bliss 136

New Life, New Challenges 145

Fighting the Good Fight 154

The Judgement of Solomon 163

Slings and Arrows 170

Notes of Grace 178

Epilogue 183

Prologue

Why do we need to tell our stories?

To uncover mysteries. To make sense out of what often appear to be inexplicable, random events. To grapple with injury to mind or body. To come to terms with trauma and tragedy. To help others avoid unnecessary suffering by learning from our own mistakes. To find spiritual meaning and purpose in our pilgrimage on earth. To find grace, forgiveness and peace of mind.

For a long time, I have been a keeper of other people’s stories. 
In particular, people have wanted to share with me their stories of deep trauma suffered through experiences of sexual assault and domestic violence. I have found kindred spirits through the sharing of such stories – all around the world, in waiting rooms, at bus stops, 
in cafes and on international flights. I have gained great inspiration and much admiration for the courageous women who have suffered but emerged even stronger and wiser from their ordeals. Wisdom is born of pain. Maybe you are one of these countless women; maybe you are currently looking for answers. Whoever you are and wherever you are, the telling of this story is for you.

This book is my story. But I have written it as the story of another. 
Her name is Hazel. Let me explain.

This book was intended to be a memoir. My desire was to share about my own situation as a word of warning, a sharing of wisdom and a message of hope for any woman who may find herself in a similar situation to that in which I found myself a lifetime ago.

As I began the process of writing, however, I realised that I needed to figure out a way to tell the story without retraumatising myself in the telling.

I have always loved writing, and I have written two books prior to this one. These books brewed in me for many years, but until my 
later life there was no time to give to writing them. In early 
adulthood, I was for a long time the primary caregiver to my severely disabled son. In middle adulthood, I became completely engrossed in my counselling career and charity and advocacy work. I had other priorities then, and any writing was confined to small articles, speeches or eulogies. Writing books in this later season of adulthood has allowed me the time to reflect in a way that was simply not possible during those busy times.

Yet unlike my first two books, I found the process of giving voice to this particular story so much harder. I have been haunted by fragile health throughout my life. I put much of it down to stress, which I felt could be expected, given some of the adjustments I’d been obliged to make. As I began to write this book, however, 
I became anxious about some physical symptoms I was experiencing. 
I was worried about an unpleasant cancer history returning to plague me.

Meandering through busy city streets one day, without any prior warning, I fainted in the middle of the shopping mall. I wasn’t really aware of what had happened, but awoke to find myself being cradled in the arms of a very handsome African man. What bizarre dream is this? was my first thought. Then I realised that two wide-eyed children were staring at me solemnly. The little girl said, ‘You had better put her down Daddy. Mummy won’t like it.’

‘The lady is sick,’ smiled my kind rescuer.

Later I had tests to find out what ailed me, but no physical cause could be detected.

The next inexplicable incident took place while I was in a deep sleep. 
I woke up to find my whole body, limbs and all, shaking violently. I was so frightened and convinced I was dying. This continued for several hours.

Again, no medical cause was found. My diligent and concerned GP questioned me about my activities on the day prior to this event. Everything had been fine and normal – just my usual routine. 
She therefore referred me to my therapist, who, upon digging deeper, discovered I had been working on this memoir on the morning of the shaking episode. Even though I’d continued with my daily routine, 
watching a TV comedy before bed – hardly a strenuous day, I would have thought – it soon became abundantly clear that the writing was triggering these episodes. I was incredulous, as I felt otherwise fine. Such is the nature of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), 
with which I was subsequently diagnosed. My subconscious knew it was tough for me, even if I didn’t.

This was a wake-up call for me. I gave myself a break and focused on unloading my worries and calming myself using various helpful protocols. Even though a part of me was questioning whether I should keep writing, the story continued to make its presence felt and nagged at me until I just got on with it, whatever the consequences.

To give myself a bit of distance and safety, I removed all personal pronouns as I wrote. Suddenly, the story flowed.

And so, Hazel was born.

Walk with her as she shares her journey.

I hope you will get to know her and that her story will speak to your heart. Even if it is not your story, it is a reality for your sisters, daughters or friends. Women everywhere know this, even if only subconsciously. Domestic violence is prevalent everywhere in all societies, classes, countries and cultures and throughout the generations. It is often hiding in plain sight, obscured behind a brave camouflage.

Through the telling of Hazel’s story, I hope someone will find the courage to start a conversation, to speak out, to own their own situation or ask about another’s. Domestic violence should not be a dirty little secret.

And if you are a victim, I hope that someday, with Hazel, you will be able to say:

That was then. This is now. I have the tools to keep myself safe. I am okay.

That is my prayer.

PART ONE

‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’

~ L. P. Hartley

CHAPTER 1

Growing Up

Her family came from a foreign country, a distant outpost of the British Commonwealth. They were told they would be welcome, embraced by Mother England. As good fortune, random events or the will of God would have it, they found themselves in a small village with only a disparate handful of foreigners already settled there, some also from mixed marriages – though not many Indian and English, like hers. Her father must have thought returning to his roots would be the best option for them. Extended family on her father’s side had lived in this part of England for some decades, and this no doubt eased the transition for them all. Post-war England was far from perfect, but a better prospect for his womenfolk than any other options available to them during those diffic ult times.

They were indeed embraced. Despite tears and homesickness at leaving everything behind, they made themselves at home and entered into a new culture with hope in their hearts.

Growing up in pleasant middle-class neighbourhood in a close-knit, loving family, Hazel was the eldest of two girls.

With a gap of three years between them, Hazel and her sister, Elena, were polar opposites in character. Elena was a reserved child in comparison to the more-outgoing Hazel. She was always polite to adults but didn’t engage much with her peers, preferring her own company. The two girls had completely different tastes, and as each was allowed to choose their own hobbies and pastimes, they didn’t come to share each other’s interests. As well-mannered and attractive children, they were seen as a bit of a novelty in the village, especially as they were always impeccably dressed in beautiful clothes made by their mother, Teresa.

Hazel was described by the adults in her world as bubbly, compelled to chat with strangers, smiling at everyone she saw. Renowned as a chatterbox, Hazel seemed to know everyone in the immediate vicinity; in her naive way, she viewed everyone as her friend. The locals seemed to have a soft spot for her, spontaneously greeting her, often patting her head. Two elderly ladies used to sit on the wall outside her house waiting for the little newcomer to pass by, and they told her mother that she made their day.

Her mother, Teresa, who was gentle, ladylike and rather shy, reaped the benefits of her daughter’s sociability as she, too, became acquainted with the neighbours. They often told Teresa what well-behaved children she had. Within a very short space of time the family became well-respected members of the community. It was as if they had always lived there.

Being a very imaginative child, Hazel was soon organising plays, dressing up as all sorts of characters and writing little stories for her friends. She had a string of fancy monikers for all her dolls and toys – the more outlandish the name, the better. Her dolls were called Hortense, Benedicta, Love, Hope and Charity!

As soon as she could read, Hazel devoured books and read them aloud to anyone who would listen, even cats, dogs and chickens. The chickens were a great audience, and she would sit close to the pen, discussing the latest instalment with Mother Hen, who clucked her approval. The arrays of dolls and teddy bears were also a captive audience. Hazel’s fantasies ran wild and free, and she was often in a dream world of her own. She changed her own name several times; for a long period, for some unknown reason, she would only answer to Rachel. ‘Hazel?’ she would say dreamily. ‘Who is she?’ Her father would shake his head, smile affectionately at his wife and ask, ‘Where on earth did we find this one?’

Another flight of imagination was pretending to be an announcer from the BBC. This was achieved with aid of an old wireless that had lost its innards, into which Hazel squeezed her head to complete the illusion. From within the wireless shell, she would sound out news and weather reports and even try to mimic the characters on The Archers, 
a long-running BBC radio serial. She also loved Woman’s Hour and Mrs Dale’s Diary, reciting the dialogues verbatim. Sitting contentedly at her grandfather’s side by an open fire, stroking the