Trauma isn’t the end. Recovery is just the beginning.
I need your help – it would be a MASSIVE blessing to me if you could review my podcast on Apple Podcasts. It’s kinda the “go to” for reviews, and some jackass family member of mine last year decided to leave their temper tantrum on everything I had, including my podcast. I can’t have it removed or reported, but together WE CAN BURRY IT.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-survivor-by-amanda-blackwood/id1518870187
She’s the brains behind The Second Wound and she’s been a hero of mine since I found her. Tonight, I’m honored to have her on my podcast for a 52 minute long episode!! If you’re up for learning some SHOCKING things about how your brain works with trauma, and what the “second wound” really is, tune in.
He came in, saw the gifts, and took a deep breath. He said his typical series of “Oh Wow” comments, and then opened his gifts. He tried a truffle, he thanked me for everything, he kissed me, and after going down for some cookies and milk (with all the chocolate in the room…) he watched his DVD. The whole time I sat there in the center of the bed in my night gown, my legs curled around in the cutest fashion I could manage.
“Oh, I’m beat” he said after he got done watching the DVD – or at least half of it. He got ready for bed and we climbed under the covers. We assumed the usual position with my back to his stomach, he wrapped his arms around me, and that was that. One or two tears leaked out of my eyes, but I was fine with that. I was fine with that being all that was all that was going to happen. Then he said he was sorry.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you any flowers.”
“I don’t need flowers,” I choked out, forcing the sobs not to escape.
“Maybe not, but you deserve them.” Finally I couldn’t hold it any longer. I suddenly burst out into sobs and the tears were streaming down the side of my face, staining the pillow case with the makeup I had carefully applied before he came home. My body shook with the emotion, and Pete held me tighter.
“What is it?” He asked. I sobbed harder. Pete rolled me over slightly, wanting to see my face. “Can you tell me?” He asked again. I took a deep breath.
“I don’t …” I stuttered “I don’t need flowers, but” I sniffed, “a card would have been nice.” My face wrinkled up in a horrid expression of pure pain and disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, Baby! I mean, I had planned on getting something for you on Monday, but when I had to call the cops on the neighbor (long story) I just lost my day. I couldn’t go anywhere!”
“I know,” I said, sympathetically. The clock ticked 11:45 pm and I forced back another sob. He had fifteen minutes left. “It’s ok. I understand.” What struck me as odd was that I DID understand, but I was being incredibly selfish just then. Still, I couldn’t help it. I needed to be selfish for a moment.
“No,” he corrected himself, “I had time yesterday. I could have done something; anything. I screwed up. I’m sorry.” I burst into sobs again, increasingly feeling worse because I knew my crying was making HIM feel worse. I knew he felt bad. I didn’t need to give him a guilt trip, too! He’s worth more than that to me. Still, I couldn’t help it. He had just admitted to me that he just didn’t BOTHER to do anything.
I forced myself to calm down and take a deep breath. He held on to me gently and kissed my bare shoulders around the spaghetti strap night gown. Long after he thought I had fallen asleep, he whispered that he was sorry again and finally drifted off to sleep next to me. I laid there crying gently so as not to wake him. Somewhere around 1 in the morning I also drifted off to sleep, but no dreams visited me.
In the morning, the very second I woke up, I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Immediately I began crying again as if I had a broken heart and I didn’t want to wake him. I buried my face in a towel and curled up on the bathroom rug for a few minutes, crying so hard I was shaking. That has to be one of the lowest moments I’ve had in many, many years. Finally, I cleaned myself up and went back to bed. Pete was awake. He reached out and pulled me to him gently, and I melted into his arms the way I always do, my back to his stomach.
Once Pete thought I was asleep, he got up out of bed and got dressed. It was a little before 7 am and I knew the routine well enough. He would head down to fetch the paper, make some coffee, and read for a few. Not having had the time to clear my thoughts yet, I jumped out of bed and threw on my sweats. My original plan was to go for a run, but half a mile from the house I realized that I didn’t know where I was going or how long I would be gone. I left my phone at home by the bed, and left a note on the pillow telling him that I was sorry I had cried, and that I would wash the makeup off of the pillow case when I came back. My original plan was to avoid the house until he had left for work… but that plan changed. I didn’t want to be away from him and have the last words exchanged be those of disappointment and sadness when he left for his 12 hour shift. He’s better than that. He deserves better from me.
I walked straight to the Pacific Ocean. I stood there on the cliff for a couple of minutes in an isolated area, just watching the waves crash into the rocks. Once more I cried, but it was an accumulation of so many things. The reality of not having a job after finally feeling like I was getting somewhere in this world got to me. The fact that Pete took me for granted hurt me severely. The reality that I may never get married again because of taxes became another factor sitting there high on the cliff. This had been possibly one of the most horrible weeks of my life, and the one person in this world who knows me better than anyone else wasn’t there for me on the most romantic day of the year. For a half of a split second, I doubted our relationship. Out of anger, frustration, confusion, sadness, heartbreak, loneliness, and outright fury, I screamed out at the waves and at the world, my voice getting lost on the cliffs of San Pedro. Defeated, I collapsed to my knees with my face burried in my hands and did something I’ve not done in a very long time. I prayed. I prayed for a long time, and the sobs started to quiet down.
Suddenly, I was ok.
I stood up and walked home, as simple as that.
When I walked into the house, Pete’s voice met my ears. He was on the phone.
“Yeah, I still have to sign the papers and stuff. Hey Mom, I gotta go – Amanda just came back.” I squinted and shirked a bit, starting to feel really bad that he had been on the phone with his mother long enough to tell her that I had left in the first place. I sat down on the bed.
Pete stood up from the computer. Soft love ballads were coming from the speakers on either side of his Mac Pro. He sat next to me and reached out for me. I fell into his arms once more, and this time it was his turn to cry. I never want to see that again.
“I am so sorry. I never want to hurt you!”
“Pete,” I began, bravely, “I think you need to know where my mind was last night.” He fell silent, listening carefully to what I had to say. He held me tighter, knowing that I gathered strength from him. “You were being so mysterious for so long,” I told him. “I had been wondering for a month what you had planned. You reassured me two weeks ago that you would plan something, you wouldn’t just do what your friend Chuck does and pick up a single rose at a 7-11 store on the way home that day. I took that for what it was. I had it all narrowed down. I thought that of all the options out there,” I paused only briefly, knowing that if I didn’t plow onward, I wasn’t going to get it out, “you’d either bring me lingerie or… a ring. When you came home with nothing, I thought to myself that you didn’t love me enough to even think about getting a card. I was entirely selfish and I’m sorry.”
Pete wiped his eyes just then, but not until a tear dislodged itself from his eye and splashed gently on my shoulder. I held him tight.
“Amanda, my parents know how serious I am about you. They know we’re living together, and they know that we are wanting to get married. I have no doubt in my mind that we’re going to do what we want to. It may be a hard month for us, and I know it’s been a very hard week for you, but I believe we’ll be ok.”
The above was written in 2007.
What a fool I was. To have a man tell me that he would ‘plan’ something, to have him swear he would do more than pick up a fake rose at a gas station on his way home only to do LESS than that was a clear sign. I wish I’d paid more attention back then. Eventually we did get engaged, but it was short lived when he postponed the wedding, and then told me that I should “find someplace to go” in March 2009.
The ocean waves calmed me because they were washing away my sorrows. I was an idiot to walk back in there for anything more than to pick up my mobile phone and leave. I must have been out of my mind to stay for another two YEARS after that point.
I’ve since moved on with my life. I don’t have to scream at the waves anymore – because I moved to the mountains instead.
AITA?!
WOULD YOU WEAR A WEDDING DRESS ON AN AIRPLANE?
A recent discussion about wearing wedding dresses on airplanes didn’t go the way this person thought it would.
I didn’t want to just not wear the dress I was so fond of to show that I’d just married the love of my life.
So, AITA?
So, AITA for wearing my wedding dress on the plane?
You guys. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is your sexual assault trigger warning. We’re talking violation of a child. It’s difficult stuff to process, ESPECIALLY for other survivors, but her message is powerful and important. So, with the warning out of the way, we’ll continue.
If you missed her podcast episode, please tune in!
https://anchor.fm/amandablackwood
I was just a child and I enjoyed playing with my white doll who I called Jane, at school, I played
games with my friends such as rounders, chinese skip, and jacks and I was happy.
I also had a dog, Joe, and we would often have racing competitions, he was my best friend. On
evenings after school, Joe would be waiting for me at the end of my street and that brought me
so much joy.
I was just a child when my dad died and I couldn’t understand what death meant, I felt as though
and he didn’t want me. I lived with my paternal grandparents, and he came to live with us when
he was ill.
Though I didn’t get the hugs and kisses I wanted from him, I was happy to finally brag to my
friends about my dad. Then one day after school I was greeted by an empty gloomy bedroom
where he stayed. Something felt empty inside of me, and my grandmother told me that he had to
be taken to The Queen Elizabeth Hospital because he got very sick. I couldn’t go to visit him
because I was underage, and every day I would run home from school hoping to see him, sadly
one day my world crashed into a million pieces when I was told my dad was dead, and I wouldn’t
see him again. I was confused!
Coping with my dad’s death was challenging for me, but then something happened that carried
me further into confusion and disbelief. I was home alone, from my bedroom window, I
watched my grandmother walking gingerly in the midday sun with an umbrella held over her
head, while on an errand.
Suddenly, I noticed a presence in my room, it was my pastor who was working in our yard fixing
a car. He stood right next to me and looked through the window and said, “your mummy is
walking fast.” He held my elbow and turned me away from the window. He led me to the bed,
and I was totally bewildered.
He kept bidding me to relax, and then he lifted my skirt and parted my legs, then a burning and
stretching sensation took over my vagina, as he evaded my innocence at nine years old.
I was just a child and that day I felt as though my childhood as I had known it was over and to
some extent it was.
That day I became a liar and a pretender. I pretended that I was okay, and I lied to my
grandmother when she asked, “Sharon what’s wrong with you, are you okay?” My Pastor had
already informed me that no one would believe me if I told them what happened, and he also bid
me to keep my mouth shut about this ordeal.
I no longer sat with my legs opened and relaxed the way innocent little girls did, I made sure that
my private area was hidden. Because I felt ashamed.
I hardly played as I did before, and I became very angry with my pastor and my innocent friends
who were still virgins. All I wanted was to be a child and now my childhood was interrupted by
my grief, sexual abuse and the back-breaking weight of the secret.
I guess it’s been a couple days since I put anything up. I’ve stepped away from the paints for right now, because everything seems to be so cold and my paint dries too quickly in these temperatures. The basement is a little “freezy” at the moment.
But that doesn’t mean that I can’t pull out the pencils again. Here’s another example of black and white pencil on gray paper. Once again, this will be a part of a book cover in the future.
Goodness. This woman is amazing. Her podcast episode will air on Friday, but I wanted to share a bit with you. She sent this in as her guest blog post and I was blown away. There’s another coming too – but be forewarned there is a possible sexual assault trigger. Sharon lives in Barbados and when I read this, I can hear her lovely accent.
Life begins at forty they said, but at forty I was thrust into a divorce and my life was now a whirlwind of emotions and experiences. The divorce came as a surprise to me. I was blindsided so here I was with my two children moving out of the home I shared with my family for thirteen years into a rental apartment. I was scared and happy at the same time, scared because I was going to be alone and handling everything on my own and happy because my ex-husband and I shared the same living space during the divorce proceeding and after that for one year.
So, it was time to begin my journey of being forty and divorced. I lived every month
when I had to pay $1200 in rent because that money could’ve gone else where but
peace is priceless. I no longer slept sound because I had to be the ears and eyes in
my household, and worrying about making sure I handle the money right and
protecting my children became a major concern.
After my divorce I felt exposed and naked, after all the bible says the husband is
head of his wife (Ephesians 5:23) and the covering for his wife and I experienced
the head being removed from me. Men were coming at me in all directions maybe
they were smelling the pheromones my body was giving off. The comments from
them were sickening “I know a beautiful woman like you has to be married”, “geez
on man you sexy ya, I done know a man has you snatched up” I feel embarrassed
by some of the comments and I began wearing fake wedding bands to keep them
at bay. I had to much going on in my life to be thinking about starting a new
relationship, while I am on this note, younger men started to inbox me something
I have never experienced. All of them had the same line “I may be young but I am
very mature and age is just a number”
I had to shut them down very early because I certainly wasn’t looking to be a
“suga mummy”, neither was I looking to get my groove back at that moment.
Life after divorce had on merry -go -round of bewilderment, I felt like I no longer
belong in some groups at church because the invitations no longer came. I couldn’t
understand what was happening, was I no longer an individual? Was marriage that
provided my identity? I was still an individual who needed love and support during
this difficult time.
I experienced the five stages of grief denial, anger, bargaining, depression and
acceptance. And, after numerous sessions of therapy, I began to heal from the
deep wounds of the rejection I felt from the divorce. “Divorce is like a death
without a burial”, Dane Cunningham. My healing started when I recognized that
life goes on after divorce.
Tune into the podcast on January 13th at 6pm (mountain time) to listen to Sharon tell her story. You won’t want to miss this one.
I painted this backdrop a few weeks ago but I had no idea what to do with it. That is, until yesterday. I finally figured it out.
This will go to You Deserve Art(Colorado’s Southwest Plaza Mall) in the next couple weeks to join the others on display for sale.
You guys. I was so blown away to see this on TikTok this morning. I don’t know this woman, never met her, haven’t really interacted with her… and she reviewed my book on TikTok!! I couldn’t believe all the things she said!
YOU HAVE TO CHECK THIS OUT.
There is something so emotionally rewarding about painting. I started painting only January of last year as a form of continuing therapy after my therapist said there was not much more she could do to help me and I had written my autobiography as a survivor of human trafficking. I knew I still had a journey ahead of me and she suggested I start painting to see if it would help. It quiets my mind, helps me to purge bad memories, gives me another form of expression, and proves to me that it’s never too late to try something new.
I hope you try something new this season, too.
Amanda Blackwood the Survivor