As I drove into work the other day I was listening to NPR.  They were talking about the ever present Human Trafficking epidemic that is impacting almost every city in the US.  They were talking about how young girls are swept into it and the legislation that needs to change to help make a difference in the vast world that we live in where things like this tend to be turned a blind eye to.

As they gave the signs and ways that pimps bring girls into being trafficked I reflected on how close I could have been to that life.  If you’ve read my story you know some of the things that I have gone through, but all the while my friend, whose uncle abused me, and I were plotting to run away.  We had spent the entire 8th grade school year doing everything we could to save money.  We didn’t eat our school lunches so that we could have that little extra, we lied, and instead of going to movies we hung out with friends and didn’t spend the $20 my parents and her uncle gave her.  Our birthday money went straight into the lock box in my room for our running away fund.

We had a plan.

We were going to wait until summer and run away to Miami.  She said she had done some research and it was the best city to go to in the south because of the diversity and the population.  It would be easy to blend in.  And then when we ran out of money, because we knew our fund wouldn’t last for long she and I would go into prostitution and our boyfriends would sell drugs.  This coming from the heads and mouths of us, at the age of 13 and 14.

The scary part is, we got close.  We got really close.

A few months before our planned escape she was moved back to live with her grandmother in another state. We still conversed regularly about our plan via phone and mail.  We would make our escape while my family, me included was vacationing in Panama City during the summer.  She and her boyfriend were going to steal a car in the state they lived in, drive to Franklin to pick up my boyfriend at the time and then onto Panama City Beach to get me in the cover of the night. Once in Miami we would ditch the car and go into runaway and hiding mode for about 6 months or until we assumed our families would stop looking for us.  This was our plan.

She and her boyfriend did steal a car.  They made it within 30 miles of Franklin to get my boyfriend and were pulled over.  My friend wasn’t able to talk her way out of this one.  The car was towed back to its owner a few states away and they were taken back for theft in their city.

This was all pre-cell phones.  So when they called to tell me they got a car and were heading my way I got ready.  I found a reason to leave the hotel super early in the morning and waited.  I kept waiting until I knew something was wrong.  When they never showed up I knew they had to have been caught.

I remember being so upset that I was going to have to stay with my family that I so desperately felt the need to get away from.  Once vacation was over we went back home to Franklin and found out a few weeks later what had happened.  My friend was in juvy lock up and because her boyfriend was 19 he went to jail.  She had written me a letter to let me know what happened.

Looking back I am so thankful that I never got picked up.  As I write this I am in tears because I now see the life I could have had.  That for some reason I was spared from.  I could have just been another trafficked person…and willingly trafficked because that was what we had decided at 13.  We would live on the street and sell ourselves.

I was so close to having that life.  Yet for some reason I was spared.  I am grateful.  I am grateful they were arrested.  I am grateful I made other friends there and began going to a church and getting healthier.  I am grateful because of where I am today. 25, married and enjoying my current life.  But I can’t help but look at the life that I could have had but don’t.

What are you grateful didn’t or did work out in your life?  How has that impacted you?

You see, writing is very easy for me. To write my deepest feelings comes natural. Sharing them online is a little harder but most certainly leaps and bounds easier than vocalizing them.

in my 24 year old brain saying something out loud has such power. It makes it more real. It leaves me feeling more exposed. I can hide behind my computer screen and type things out and click “publish” and there it goes. I dont see people reading it. I dont see their reaction. I may hear about it, but I’m not there when they read it. So they cant hurt me. They cant reject me. It’s very safe.

But a while ago i took a step out of my comfort zone and i shared my story out loud. I had been walking each morning with a lady from our church here whom is older than me and has grown children. Her life has been one of ups and downs, like most peoples. She was real and she was willing to speak very freely about her faults and failures. Because she was so open with me i wanted to return the favor. and i knew she would be safe.

I thought, how hard could sharing my story be out loud? I mean, i blogged it and people read it and I am fine. It’s already out there.

But the day came when i had decided i would share.

i froze.

I babbled and stalled.

I brought up small talk throughout our walk to hopefully run out of time to be able to share my story. I had let the fear of sharing with her face to face stop me from sharing the things that i went through and have built me.

I went home very frustrated with myself because i couldnt even share out loud the things that happened. I was scared to connect some of the words like sexual abuse or drug addiction to myself out loud. As if it would make it more real than it already was. I was scared to see her reaction.

What if she judged me?
What if she didn’t want to go walking anymore?
What if she saw me as needy?
What if….

So i went home discouraged and decided that no matter how uncomfortable it made me it wasnt an option. I would have to break my little issue and share it out loud. It was the next step in my healing.

The next morning we went walking and i made small talk for a bit and knew i needed to step out. So, i took a deep breath in and went into it. It took the duration of our walk to share it…the ins and outs. the hurts and dynamics. But i shared my story out loud.

in that moment i felt more free than i ever had. for the first time i shared in front of someone and she didnt judge me. she didnt think i was sick or twisted. she listened. she wanted to understand the things that make me, me. and it was fantastic.

have you shared your story? does sharing things out loud scare you like me?

It is not yet finished. I still have the colour and shading to get done….and that magic will happen November 19th. I debated sharing the story after that, but i am still getting people ask the meaning…so what better time than the present.

As many of you know i like to memorialize major events in my life by tattoos…hence the 9 that i have. ;)

This one is the one of most meaningful ones, and not just because it is the most recent but because of the story behind it.

The best way that i have learned to explain it is by getting people to picture the Wizard of Oz and the scene when Dorothy and the 3 companions are coming out of the dark forest and the Emerald City is before them.  It is beautiful.  They are coming out of darkness and all the struggle that happened throughout their time in the forest.  The Emerald City is in front of them, but as you remember from the movie they still have a journey ahead of them.  They still have struggles that they will face, but the worst is really behind them.  The darkness and despair and there is hope in their future.

I have always connected with that movie and i have always thought that part of the movie was the most majestic.  so much hope.

to me, the tattoo represents coming out of the darkness of my past and moving out from the shadow of it and living now and looking into the future.  i came to a point where i realized i was living in the darkness and the pity party and had to make a move out of it.  Through that entire season of moving past it i pictured this part of the movie.  The wonder, hope and awe that would come when i reached the end of that season and began to step forward into the light and all that is before me in my life.  So instead of getting that scene of the Wizard of Oz i had my amazing artist James mesh the concept and feeling i was going for into this.

The girl obviously represents me and the apprehension, hope, awe and wonder of what is to come, pausing at the end of the darkness to remember what was behind and the lengths traveled and the journey that was, but moving on into the next part of the journey.

So, that is the story behind it.

What is your favourite tattoo that you have and why?

Through out my life I have been objectified.

I was abused by several men growing up and because they viewed me as an object. I was no longer Lynse, my identity was taken away and i had become just another thing….a baseball card that is bought and sold…when you are done with it you maybe put it in the closet or throw it away.

There is not a lot of value in an object.

After years of being treated like an object i began to believe that i was an object. I was there for someone else’s pleasure. my dreams, aspirations and voice did not matter, because, you see, i was only an object.

I am no expert, but i feel like a lot of people i have talked to who were abused woke up one day and felt like “i have to find myself” or “reclaim who i am”.

As i was half watching Criminal Minds and half having an inner dialogue about the damage of being objectified i realized that it was probably the most damaging aspect, for me, of the abuse.

Once you are objectified over and over and over you begin to think you are an object and you follow suit of your abusers and remove your own value.

And the on going cycle begins…if you dont have any value in yourself then others wont value you.

today as i am 10 years past the most recent sexual abuse trauma i am still left picking up the pieces. I still am trying to learn to value myself. I am still trying to see that i have a voice and those that love me should value what i have to say. I am still learning that i am a valued person by those around me, and i deserve to be valued. I deserve to be a person and not an object.

This is why when we went to New Orleans and walked Bourbon Street messed with me. This is why a part of my heart aches for human trafficking victims. Not that i know the extent of the pain, loneliness and all other emotions that have to be tied up in there. But i know just a sliver. I know what it feels like to be devalued. To be told over and over by different people that you are worth no more than sex or the pleasure that you can provide to them.

each person deserves to be valued. valued by themselves and others.

this is something i am still learning…and will probably be learning for my entire life. Learning to first value myself and then those around me.

Do you have a hard time valuing yourself? What about others?

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Dark night, dark blood carrying with it a river of rage that had brought her to this point. And the horror of it suddenly shone with the clarity of her face in the mirror as she reached down for the razor blade. She always kept a constant supply of loose blades for when the rage took over. The cutting helps relieve the tension, she says to herself in a reassuring voice. I’m not addicted, I don’t have to do it, I just do.

She lives on the street in San Franscisco, it gets cold at night. She doesn’t know where her home is, she doesn’t have a home. Every passing day she is more mad at herself for where he life is, or isn’t in her case. She holds so much rage and pain in her sixteen year old being. People say singing or writing is their therapy but it is really their “release” from a “free” world where everything is dictated. She sees drugs, alcohol and citing as her way out of a life she dreams of leaving everyday.

The blade is bone chilling as she drags it across her stomach as she does each time. She stops and sits in silence for a minute or so, and waits. She is waiting for the pride inside of her to die and the courage to rage so she can have the guts to push hard enough to break the skin. You would think after two years of cutting it would e no problem, not for her, it’s more like a ritual. In this ritual she is waiting for the pride to die so she can humble herself before her “god” an refuge of cutting. She places cutting before anything, before life, love and herself. The pain that is carried with cutting, pain on the outside is no match for the pain that she feels inside, the void of something she has never felt for herself.

She never cuts deep enough to do more than hurt the skin, she is too afraid. She doesn’t know that cutting the outside is killing her on the inside. So many people care that she doesn’t know about. Since she left home when she was thirteen she has thought parents have no care in the world. They only think about themselves.

As she presses the blade a surge of pain jets through her body giving her a “supernatural” feeling, if she even believes in anything spiritual. It feels so good. How could other people not get how good it feels? The blood trickles down her stomach and pools into her bellybutton. It’s like she has left her body. Like she is sitting on the stairs, watching herself. She knows that it hurts but not knowing what else to do. Cutting is her way out of a boring life into a life less ordinary. A life not too many sixteen year olds lead. Cutting to the world is wrong, it’s morbid and people that do it deserve to be locked up and need only counseling.

But to her cutting is all she has to survive the nothingness her life is.

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As I read this I was taken back to when I was 16. And when all of those feelings and emotions were true to me. I was a little girl trying so hard to get caught. To be found out so I wouldn’t have to live in silence.

It makes me wonder how many other people are out there just wanting their addictions to be found out so the silence can be broken.

legally it is Lindsay….but to me it looks so foreign. up until now only my closest friends who knew me at the time know why….and Chad of course. Some of them may not even know that Lynse is not legal. but i guess i am out now….legally i am Lindsay Leanne….not Lynse Leanne.

but here goes the story.

when i was a junior in high school i lived in Colorado Springs, i was holding on to a lot of things, a lot of hurt. I was in the process of just coming clean about my sexual abuse and self injury issues….But i was working through it….I was letting God work in me and change a lot of the ways that i chose to cope.

i wanted God to show up and change those things in me, to heal me and take those things away. i wanted him to make me more like him.

so i spent 2 days praying and fasting for God to take it away from me and closed my time with communion….it was at a church service and i heard the pastor say something that i had never heard….

he said that God wanted to heal all of me, every area, including my mind and emotions….and i bought into it.

i cant tell you my exact feelings, but there was just a peace and a knowing that God showed up and i was not depressed anymore….i knew that God was near me. Of course i had “down” moments, but i was no longer depressed…and yes, there is a big difference.

you are probably wondering where the name change comes in….well that night i went to starbucks to read some more. I ordered my normal Grande Vanilla Soy No Water Chai and the lady at starbucks wrote my name “Lynse” and i liked it….

i was reading the story in Genesis 32 when God changes Jacob’s name to Israel and at that moment i felt the LORD say that just as he has begun a good work in me he was also changing the spelling of my name so that each time i wrote it or saw it i would be reminded that he worked in my life. That He changed me….that He showed up, we wrestled and God changed my name.

so for all of you who have asked….there it is. and for all of you who had no clue….you now know.

Has God ever done something so huge in you that you had to do something huge to remember it?

But i wanted to touch on the ending of the Self Injury stuff. I know that i didnt really resolve all of that for you all.

When i graduated High School and moved to Birmingham, AL i started an internship called TwentyFourSeven. It was the best and worst 2 years of my life all rolled into one. It was like a character pressure cooker….

When i began i knew that the rules and character commitments of TwentyFourSeven didnt permit me to be involved in Self Injury….and if you dont know me i am a rule follower. But mid way through the year a group of triggers occurred and i gave back in.

Honestly, in hindsight i sort of see it as a blessing. Stopping something cold turkey is hard and without people knowing it makes it really hard to stop and stay stopped.

So when i gave back into self injury i confessed and they got me counseling. I spent a year or so in counseling with an amazing woman who helped me work through the acceptance issues, shame and many other emotions that triggered my self injury habits.

Here’s the thing….i always had this scar on my wrist from where i had burned myself with a hot lighter….when i was stressed i would touch it. I would see it. I would think about how good it felt to hurt myself. And i would always think to my self

“If this God thing doesnt work out i know that i can always go back to self injury to comfort me.”

In my mind it was something that i could easily go back to….

But still no one knew. So no wonder I gave in.

After some time in counseling I was reading my Bible one morning and this verse stuck out to me….

Philippians 2:15

so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.

In context it is talking about doing things without complaining…but the last line “in which you shine like stars in the universe.” That line got me and stuck with me.

God said, Lynse your story of self injury is going to be used by me and you are my star shining in a crooked and depraved generation…..you shine like a star in the universe.

So…like most other times in my adult life i got a tattoo to remind me of that. ;)  As i thought of location i thought my wrist was the best spot….over that scar.

The scar that reminded me i could go back.

Now instead of the scar i had the star reminding me that God was going to use me and I shine in the universe for Him.

I can’t say that I am totally “over” the abuse, I think something like sexual abuse is something you carry with you your whole life. You may just grow detached as time goes on. I still daily deal with it. I still daily choose to forgive my abusers. I still daily face the lies I bought into. I still daily combat those lies with the truth of God.

Self injury is something that through God’s grace is behind me. After counseling and years of “sobriety” from it I can say that I no longer run to it for my first solution.

But to be honesty, I have hard times when I struggle with it and relapse. But I go to God and ask for His forgiveness, I confess it to a safe person and I move on, I no longer let guilt play in my mind, God has moved on… and so should I.

It has taken years to get to a place that I can even begin to think about sharing my story. I was 6 when all of this started and I am now 23….and it is only now that I feel strong enough to share.

Though it has been a rough fight I know that God has walked alongside me the whole time….and the times I couldn’t walk I know that He carried me.

As I continue to work through some of the lies I believed from other people or the lies that I told myself I have began to experience such freedom.

Chad and I work through the residue of this daily. I am still in counseling and it is a daily struggle I have to fight through.

Lies left un-touched for years become very hard to fight. They become ingrained in your life…everything. And it is totally unnoticed the more time goes on.

Through most of my life I have played the role of the victim. Because I kind of was, so I felt entitled to it.

But instead of carrying that through my entire life I chose to be a victor. I knew that God had something big for my life. And I woke up to the fact that I was choosing to hold onto it and stop God from doing big things in and through me.

So instead of sitting back and letting all of these things define who I am and change who God made me to be I chose to deal with them. Look the straight in the face and combat the lies.

I had a choice. I could continue to let it own me, define me and run my life….OR I could take a hold of God and fight through all of my junk. It was not and is not easy. But the freedom I have right now makes it worth it. And I know the longer I fight the more freedom I will know.

So today, October 29th, 2009 I would say that I am in a healthy place. I am still walking this all out. I am still learning what it means to live in freedom, in forgiveness, and without letting something totally define me.

I am learning to be me. The me that God made…not the me that I became because of circumstance.

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if you missed my story you can catch up here.
Part 1 – my first secret
Part 2 – it was who i was
Part 3 – the first cut is the deepest
Part 4 – I just wanted a friend
Part 5 – The Only Thing I Had

I dove further into self injury. It became my obsession. It was the only way to get past that time.

I wanted to die because I didn’t even feel like I was alive. I was an empty body walking around.

So I would cut to see the blood. To know I was still alive.

Cutting became the only thing I had to look forward to.

The only thing that was positive in my life.
The only thing that stood by me.
The only thing that didn’t judge me.
The only thing I didn’t have to worry about leaving me.

It was safe.

I kept cutting secretly from 13 until 17. 4 years of silence. 4 years of playing the game.

I was in church by this point and if you were to ask anyone around me I was happy. Life was good. But deep down I was dead. Cutting was the only way I could fake my way through life.

But one Sunday my life’s course completely changed because a lady was bold enough to share her story….

I was in a small group meeting called Become. It was for girls and each week they had a different speaker come and share with the group. On this particular week a lady came and shared her story of sexual abuse. In high school she was raped. She shared her journey of healing through that. She seemed to have a normal life…a husband, 3 perfect children. But her story was a lot like mine.

For the first time in a long time I felt a little twinge in my heart. I like to think it was a spark of hope.

That day I opened the door to someone. I let someone in.

I was not sure what to expect. I just dumped that I was sexually abused and was heavily involved in self injury. I didn’t know if she was safe. But I did know that she had a story a lot like mine. I hoped should would have a soft heart.

After I got everything out she asked if I would like to get coffee that coming week. She wanted to talk more about everything and find out if I was ready to heal.

She was willing to just sit with me, to cry with me…she was content to just be with me. Whatever I needed from her she was willing to give.

Over time I grew to love her. We are still in contact to this day.

Trust took a while. I was still scared there would be some form of betrayal. Because what else could I expect?

Over the years I would spend time at her house, with her family and children. She was like a second mother to me. She was incredible.

But no matter how difficult I made it on her in the beginning she walked along side me as long as we lived in the same city. She was someone I could trust completely.

If I needed her at 2am, she was there. She was safe. She was just what I needed.

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if you missed my story you can catch up here.
Part 1 – my first secret
Part 2 – it was who i was
Part 3 – the first cut is the deepest
Part 4 – I just wanted a friend

My first day was filled with such fear.
Was I going to look like all of them?
Would I act differently?
We moved to the South so I wondered if I would be able to understand any of them.

The first day of classes for me came around and I remember sitting in Reading class and getting a note from a girl one row over. (we will call her Melanie for this story).

The note simply asked my name, how old I was, where I lived and if I drank, smoked or did drugs.

I thought about the determination I had and debated playing dumb to avoid all of the things I wanted away from….but I was so desperate for friends, for love….for something.  So I checked yes to all.

Turns out she lives in the apartments near my house. So it made sense that we would hang out. It just worked.

Melanie and I hung out all the time.  We would get off the bus at her apartment and spend hours there.  The first time I was over there she gave me the family scoop.  She lived with her Uncle and Aunt, but her aunt was back home because her uncle had been drinking and became violent and beat her.

In my mind I saw all of the “red flags” but wanted to be accepted so bad, I just wanted a friend, so I brushed over it. I ignored the red flags and warning signs.

We would hang out, smoke pot, drink and whatever else we wanted and whenever we wanted.  Her uncle would buy us anything we desired….alcohol, pot, cocaine…anything that would make us stay more time with them.

I posted a few weeks ago about one night at their house and how physically abusive he was…but that was a pretty regular thing.  He would physically abuse his wife on a regular basis and us as well from time to time.

Not only did he physically abuse me, he began to sexually abuse me….

It started small and the more I was silent the more he did. The one time I tried to fight him he grabbed his trusty gun and made it very clear that if I were to fight it anymore he knew how to use the gun and wasn’t afraid to use it.

I cant explain to you why I kept going back, I have spent hours obsessing over it the only reason I can come up with is that I was scared for my life. I didn’t feel safe enough to tell anyone. I could have lost my only friend, or my life.

So I endured the abuse.

Over a period of 6 months the abuse escalated until he raped me.

I was 13, he was 46….

I felt so used.
So objectified.
So broken.

I knew these feelings from the abuse before. But this time it was more. I must have been the one to blame….because it kept happening. Did I have a target on my back that said “hey, come abuse me?”

A week after the rape Melanie moved to live with her grandmother and that was the end.

I knew that I no longer had to endure the abuse.

But the fear plagued me….

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If you missed part 1 – 3 here they are….
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3