I Had A Painful Epiphany Today. Trigger Warning- Childhood Sexual Abuse

 
Maybe the sign should have been...a sign. 
But I just thought it was humorous although I realized it wasn't meant to be. 

I've had a sore neck for months now. Besides being sore, it has limited my mobility. I have been finding myself turning my entire body to see things in my periphery. I mean, I can turn my head, just not as far as I should be able to. But in true Mary fashion I just tried to ignore the situation and do a few stretches here and there and assumed it would all right itself eventually. 
Well, it has not. What did happen though, was that my left shoulder suddenly became very, very sore. Like- waking me up at night sore. Like- this is pain sore. And after about a week of that I decided that enough was enough and I called our regular massage therapist to see if she had any appointments available but she is in Ohio with her family on vacation so scratch that. 
I took the next step this morning and made an appointment at a local place called Chen's which is pretty well known in the Tallahassee area. I mean, they have four locations. I got a massage there once a long time ago and it was fine. What could go wrong? 
My appointment was at 1:30 and I went in and the waiting/reception area was pleasant and I filled out an intake form and within seconds was following my massage therapist down a hallway. 
My first problem was that it was a man. Now I have had men massage therapists before and they can be very good but honestly, I would much rather have a woman. I don't care how qualified or professional or kind a man is, I would just feel more comfortable with a woman. 
But. I didn't say anything. His English was quite limited and my whatever-he-speaks is nonexistent so that was a thing. But the table in the room he led me to looked very clean and well-covered and of course there was the ubiquitous chair to put my clothes on. He discretely motioned for me to undress and get onto the table which I did, keeping on only my underwear. 
After a moment a gentle knock came on the door and I said "Come in," and he did and he asked me how I was doing. I told him about my neck and my shoulder and he asked me to turn over. He began working on the left shoulder immediately and he asked me if the pressure he was using was okay. At that point it was. A bit deeper than I would have liked it but hey! I was there to get some real work done, not to have a relaxing spa time. But as he progressed, the pressure became stronger and stronger. 
"So tight," he kept saying as he kneaded my neck and shoulders. 
This how it's been for me all my life. 

After awhile the pressure was becoming more and more intense, and in fact, painful. But. Did I say anything? 
No. I did not. And that's when I realized that I have a very serious problem speaking out for what I need. This too is how it's been for me my entire life. I've been to many massage therapists who have caused me pain on the table and I don't think I've ever spoken up to ask them to lighten up. 
I KNOW that I am the one paying for this service and that there is no reason for me to experience unneeded pain. If something hurts that much, it is only making my muscles tighter which is sort of antithetical to the problem. Well, not sort of, it truly is. 
I know these things and I also know that the person giving the massage is not likely to have their feelings hurt if I ask them to lighten up a bit. In fact, I know there is NO REASON IN THIS WORLD FOR ME TO REMAIN SILENT.
As I laid there in what I can only call almost-agony, my mind was racing with all of these thoughts. "Just say something!" my brain told me."
"Shush," said that other part of me which, I realized then and there, came directly from my experience with my abuser when I was a child. Knowing something is very wrong and yet also knowing that speaking out or speaking up would be the most dangerous thing I could do (at least in my nine-year old brain) was so deeply etched into my bones and soul that when I find myself in a situation like the one I had on that table today, I am rendered mute. 
I just bore it. I even thought about the fact that I had had four babies with no epidural, three of them at home, and I could bear this pain for a little bit longer. 
The man had the strongest hands I believe I have ever encountered. I think he could bend steel with them, not unlike Superman. And listen- that's not hyperbole. There was a moment when I considered how easy it would be for him to put those hands around my neck and squeeze the life out of me in seconds. He gave me no vibe like that, it was just a thought I had, lying there naked and defenseless. 
Did I ever feel as if my stepfather might kill me? 
Honestly, I have no idea. I only know that for whatever reason (and I could easily list at least twenty), I felt completely powerless to do anything about what he was doing to me. He was in total control. I was a child and he was a very large man. He never threatened me. Not once. And not a word was ever spoken about it by either of us. It just happened and it happened and it happened. 

And all of this became all too apparent to me today, as I allowed a massage therapist to cause me great pain. 
And then, I paid him. 
I only said, "You have very strong hands," and he said again, "So tight!" 
And I wrote a tip into my credit card payment slip. 

Will I complain to the management? 
No. And you know why? Because I feel as if the pain was entirely my fault because I did not do what any reasonable adult would do which was to simply say, "Less pressure, please."
Again- is this way of thinking reasonable? 
Without a doubt, no it is not. 

Here I am, sixty years after that man my mother married abused me and I am still realizing ways in which he and that abuse affect me in my daily life. And not in a good way but in very toxic and unhealthy ways. I so often wonder what I would be like if I had never met him. I can't blame all of my problems on him. There are so many factors involved. Genetics being a big one. 
But perhaps I wouldn't be on two different antidepressants. Perhaps I wouldn't be so inclined to want to stay at home in my safe place. Perhaps I would have had more faith in myself, whether as a woman, a mother, or a writer. As a human being. 

And so I feel a small but unwished for gratefulness to that massage therapist today. He allowed me to realize this part of myself which has not served me well at all. And who knows? Perhaps I will wake up tomorrow and my neck and shoulders will be much better. 
That would be nice. 

Listen- I don't tell these stories for sympathy. I neither want nor need that. I tell them because a long time ago I learned the power of sharing these experiences. So, so many people have gone through these same things and I want them to know we are not alone, to know that others experience and do the same wacky things we experience and do because of what happened to us, and mostly, to know that we are not to blame for what happened any more than I am to blame for not saying something as my back and shoulders were being what I could almost call tortured. I COULD have spoken up.
Theoretically but not in my reality. 

And that's just the way it fucking is. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. I need to make sure that no one thinks the massage therapist caused me pain on purpose. I am sure he did not. But the fact remains, he did cause me pain, and I said not a word. 

Jingle Bells, Shotgun Shells, Etc.

Not sure you can tell but the Christmas lights Mr. Moon has plugged in to show his Christmas Cheer are made of shotgun shells. 

I believe he got that sign at Wag The Dog. I am not sure to be flattered or aghast. 
I also believe it was May who got Glen the original string of shotgun shell lights and since then, he has made his own with a string of white lights and...shotgun shells. Empty ones. You understand. 

It's sort of his craft hobby. A small project to work on when his large projects are in temporary hiatus for one reason or another. 

Speaking of the man and his projects, he left again this morning for his other home, the cabin, to oversee the roofing job that was begun. Also, to get supplies as needed. He left rather abruptly, having just gotten the call that the crew was there fairly early this morning. I packed him up some turkey soup, some blueberries, and some milk. That's all I was capable of getting in the tiny cooler he takes with him. He will be sustained as the Cheerios are already up there. 
I was already in a gray mood when I got up. In fact, I stayed in bed a long time, just thinking about things and trying to come up with good reasons to get out from under the covers where it was warm and safe and where a cat was lying on my legs as if to anchor me there. It was as gray outside as it was in my insides but finally, I decided I might as well get it all over with in terms of stepping into Monday and I did. Maurice was not well pleased. 
So I was not as genial and loving while he was packing up to leave as I could have been but I did remember to send some Ritz crackers with the soup. I am not heartless. 

I offered to bring Lauren's pie to town as tomorrow is her birthday and I knew I needed to get out of the house. It was drizzling and chilly, the kind of chilly, wet weather that, despite the fact that it wasn't really cold, gets into your bones. "Wet cold" we call it. And it is real. 

I met Lily at her house as she was home on break to let Pepper, their very small rather old-lady dog, out. Boy, is Pepper's life about to change. 
More on that in a minute. 

Because I was right there, I ran into Costco and bought a big ol' Costco-sized thing of organic baby spinach and two Costco-sized bottles of avocado cooking spray. As I walked from one end of the airplane hanger-sized store to the other, it occurred to me that I have become one of THOSE people. The old(er) people who go to Costco as a substitute for a social life. 
Oh well. It's always interesting and it was not crowded today. I got to hear people speaking languages that were not English, and I saw that they are now carrying organic pecan halves and I also saw an older couple whose size difference was about the same as mine and Glen's. And now I have just realized that the couple was not older than Glen and I are but in fact, were younger. 
I did not see Brenda and I have not seen her for awhile. I hope she's okay. 

The truly daring thing I did today was to wash two loads of laundry. This generally very calm and peaceful task had become daring because last week when Mr. Moon was working on his truck, he inadvertently got diesel fuel all over his clothes and his body. And THEN, because he was trying to be helpful, he decided to wash the diesel soaked clothes which was really NOT a good idea. For awhile I thought he was going to have to buy me a new washer but after running half a dozen "sanitizing" loads with various things from washing soda to white vinegar and Dawn dishwashing liquid, AND Oxy-Clean, and leaving the door to the washer open in hopes that it would air out, I finally decided to try and see if I could run a load of clothes without ruining them. I started out with a bleach load and that went well and have now washed a regular load which smells pretty okay so I guess we don't have to buy a new washing machine although I will say the laundry room carries the faint odor of a garage.

Mr. Moon just sent me this picture with the accompanying text, "We have a shower drain."

I don't know much about plumbing but I do believe that's a good thing to have. 

All right. The news you've all been waiting for. 

The still small little one is home. 
Why are babies all so damn cute? 
I know- so we'll love and nurture and protect them and clean up their poop. 
Here's another picture.

She is meeting her sister, Pepper. Wary, maybe?

Her name has not yet been writ in stone. Latest #1 contender is Xena, for the Princess Warrior. Lily reports that she has the best puppy breath and adores kisses. 

Well. That is a very fine start. 

Love...Ms. Moon