One Warm Day


50% of all deaf women are reported to be sexually assaulted as children…

There is no sticking date for this day, I was four, a baby brother brother recently born, the sun was in the afternoon mode in the west. My vocabulary was delayed by being deaf and taught speech only, but not “discovered” as no one in authority wanted to label me as such, yet. (not for another two and half years would this happened). The days were getting longer already, but as an observant child, I already knew it was past noon time. I stayed near the screen of the door so Mama could see me. She get so mad when I went off chasing butterflies or what ever caught my attention in those days. What happened next comes jumbled and traumatic and hard to piece together.

This is what my Parents remember. I was gone. I was right there in my muddied dress, playing happy with my mud pies in my “kitchen” my made for me from wooden milk crates. Satisfied I was put for the moment, she looked down at her slippery infant son in his bath and then looked backed up. Her heart stopped, I was gone. She screamed my name, wrapped her baby suds and all and dashed out the front door. She looked all over the yards front and back of that half acre we had. She finally called my Dad at the State Park Museum and frantically said I gone missing again. Dad came home and he also looked all over the house (all 1000 square feet of it), under the house in the crawlies, down by the river the garage and every other place they could possibly think of. Nothing. Time to call in the troops. This time the State Park closed the museum and radio out to the Park Rangers all over Coloma, missing McCormick child and gave the address. Every spot on the half acer and beyond was checked including the hwy I liked to walked on sometimes. After several hours, they decided they have to dredge the river. Just as they were about to do that however, I suddenly show up on the front porch where I had gone missing from several hours ago. My Mother was convinced I was taken for one main reason. I was perfectly clean and smelled of laundry and bath soap. The last time she saw me I was splashed in mud and she had thought how she would have a second child to bathe that night.

My own memories are more jumbled. In part because they are mixed in with memories of things that happened to me before we moved “across the river” as the saying was when one moved from one side of the American River to the other. My overwhelming memory is one of terror, loud sounds like gun shots, and scrambling to get under the bed or any tiny space to get away from the men, and failing. Of screaming till my throat hurt and being slapped for it. I learn quickly to be quiet, because no one came when I screamed anyway. My vagina would hurt afterwards and I would always be so tired. Also, I hated sleeping at night, day time was OK, no one could sneak up on me in the day, because I could see their shadows. I always slept with my back to the wall if I could help it. If I wanted to change sides, instead of turning over, I flip from one end of the bed to the other. Something that drove my parents nuts as they could not see why I kept changing the head of the bed. I told them, “its headaches, the bed crooked”. As it turned out the bed was off a bit… I was not raped repeatedly so much, but when I was, it was very traumatic and 50 years later, small events can bring it all up again. A drunk man on the streets recently, I did not have my alert dog with me that day as I had a lot to do and I was concern he would be too stressed out. So I was not alerted when a drunk man came up behind me, and got really close. Started talking and all my protected actions failed. Come at me from the front and the side and I am ready for you. But I was at my car and he came to my back side. I froze. My body and my voice. I have never been able to trust my voice will bring help and I have a LOUD voice. He kept talking I kept signing and finally he gave me a kiss on the cheek. What really froze me was he reeked of old and current alcohol. Just like the men who used to have me. All he did was kiss me on the cheek, but for weeks after I would be in tears, shakes and want to vomit every time I had to go by that spot where I had business to attend to. He was finally taken in by Police and Medical Attendants for a completely different reason, but a milestone around my soul was cut off that day. At least ONE guy was caught. The men who did what they did to me 50 years ago, I can find no record of them ever being caught or where they are located now. I am looking though, when I do find where they are, I will make my report. Why? Because I heard that one of them is still playing “Grandpa”. It is too late for me, but not too late for other little ones.

Nancy Louise

Natural Healing requires timely inputs of NOWness.


 

Today is now, there is no other time. To live at any other time in your mind is to be dead to what is real and true and abundantly available from God. Be present in the life here and all will be added unto you, for he is within you when you are within him in his presence. You must be present to access his grace in a way that you are aware of. This is not to say if you go about like a zombie on some days, you are out of his grace, it is only that I am saying, you can’t as fully live in his grace, if you are not living as you ARE and not what you simply wish you did in the past, or imagine you will be in the future. God meets you where you are at, but you need to meet yourself in reality of now.

Maybe you don’t like what you see right now. Are you sure you are looking at the full picture? The other day I was feeling so miserable because I had to ask a dear old close friend to move away from me (in a manner of speaking) so we can be apart for a while to heal. Not that either of us did specific damage on purpose to one another, but our past up bringing brought us to a point where I am no longer willing to accept being around actions of this person that constantly trigger anxious behaviors in me. Try as I could to minimized how those behaviors effect me, I finally had to admit, it was an environment I simply could not effectively contend with difficulties in. Our relationship is such we are much invested in it and do not wish to disregard our 22 years together. The irony is that it took much healing to even get to this point. Yet I needed validation that I was not the horrible meanie for even asking this loving person as flawed as I am, for space which requires a great deal of work on their part. Once I understood that the other person was in honestly full support and not just doing this to “help me get better” but because they could see the reason they needed it, I felt much better and less of a bully.

So do not assume that how you think you look is always the only way you are looked at. Nor that how another will see you is necessarily the full truth either. All people see things through lens of their experience, we cannot escape that. Being in love is never easy, be it with another life form (our fur children / friends for example), another human, or yourself, even God can be fraught with issues. Point is, you cannot deal with healing by hiding from it mentally in some other frame of time thought. It takes the guts of being here and now with support to pull together the resources needed to become whole. Even Jesus had to work, none of the miracles he pulled off were effortless.

This is a good list from all four gospels of the many healing (medical) that are recorded of what Jesus did.

List of Jesus Supernatural Healing.

Read them and you will see they took effort for the Son of Man to do them. There was no magic wand, so why should our own healing be any different. Knowing you are flawed, feeling sorry for your sins are all well and good. To use them or allow them to cause you despair however, goes over the line into sin. In other words, you just make the problem worst and sadly this is what often happens when people turn to drugs, food, drink, sex, or shopping to escape from it.

Live now, heal here, Be Alive.

Soul Shredders Of Audistic Kindness.

Triple Photo montage.

If any of you have read my blogs for any amount of time, I have written very openly of my rape (s) at age 4, 5 and 6. There was however another type of “rape” if you will, much more subtle and it had a different name and guise under the tutelage of Education. It was consider conformity, proper upbringing, and correction. It was done for my own good, the gift being that I would be raised to: fit in, hold down a job, and not be a burden to others, and above all, not a failure. I was raised to become a hearing person or to at least duplicate one as close as possible. While saying that my oral education was similar to rape could be over exaggerations, the violations of my personhood and the resulting damage was the same.

This violation taught me many wonderful things about myself. I learned that I am broken and because I am broken and I cost my family a lot of money, I OWE them to do my very best to learn how to talk. I learned to value the talkers power of thought over my own mind. In doing so, I realized I was a disgusting little twerp and to make sure I was a little girl of goodness, I used to find self destructive ways to beat out my anger at how could I be so horrible to my parents, my grandparents, my teachers and everyone around me? I proudly had scabs and callous running down my arms from playing tether ball in the yard. When that was taken away, if I got hurt, I challenged my toughness by when ever I got hurt or cut, I would pour Listerine over the wound to clean it, and dear myself not to scream. Sometimes I felt so dead inside, I was not sure I was real anymore. Noise babbled around me constantly, noise ringing in my head as well, I never knew silence of any kind, nor did I know solid sensory information it seemed, everything was confused jumbled sounds. I think that why I loved mosaics. They were the first thing I saw that made order of chaos. I remember when snow fell where I lived, I walked outside in my bare feet, I wanted to see if the pain would make me alive. The Sister of the Catholic School came outside and saw me. She simply put her arm around my shoulder and quickly and quietly ushered me into the school. Asking me what I was doing, I had no answer. They knew enough to recognized deep pain, and the teachers took time to be with me, and I took comfort in that. Suddenly, the world started to feel a little bit real, when someone took the time to look and say, “Hi”. Then I begin to slowly, ever so slowly learn, I am a damn strong woman too. We call ourselves survivors.

Triple Photo montage.
A Shredded Soul Revealed.

In college I had several breakdowns and only my nearest and dearest friends kept me from doing something stupid. I said nary a word to any of them, but they knew. I owe them all my life and yes 30+ years later, they are still my rocks. That did not stop me from busting a hand through glass (thanks to God it was thin glass), or breaking things, throwing chairs, and other things, cutting hands with X-acto knife. How did a self destructive person like me have the friends I do? Because believe it or not, I don’t WANT to be that destructive person, I love people. Anger however, the way I was taught about who I was supposed to be as opposed to who I AM, was in deep conflict. I have a lot more peace now, but Goodness to my sweet God, I wish it did not have to take more than three fourths of my life to get it cleaned up.

So yes, I was violated while being taught to talk. It was not rape like I was when I was 4 -6 years of age,  instead there was the more now recognized form of power over powerless, Patronizing over pitiful. Objectifying the child in order to manage the sensory neural disorders. On March 3, 2012, in the Heartland of America, on a day of what many think of as a Great man, Alexander Graham Bell, Audism Free America in St. Louis MO, will be having their own party. At this party if you could see the souls with special glasses, you would find many of them shredded as mine. Some still raw, some white with healed scars.

While times have surely changed, there is always my friends those who wish to return to the days when making the child conform to the ideal of Oralism, usually pushed by big Pharmacy/Medical Technology and what they think the child should be, rather than what that child can truly fully achieve when allowed to for-fill who they are.

So you might ask, who do I blame for my shredded soul, my pain, my disabled ability to navigate the pathways of life? Truth? No one, and everyone in the Audistic oral programs of my childhood. I mean, look, they did mean well in their own misguided attempts to do well. What sickens me is the consent belief that those of us (Deaf) who have degrees in the same field they do are still not considered worthy of knowing what the Deaf need in terms of Education, unless they parrot the same oral methods. Why am I so against oral methods when I have clearly benefited from it in some fashion?

Let me be clear, I am NOT against Oral training for the Deaf. I am not against the use of Technology if there is a benefit and the person wants it (noted, the person WANTS it). I am against banning of ASL as the primary language for the Deaf . Oral training can be used as a tool.  I mean doesn’t it make more sense to use a visual language to explain how to make the throat and mouth movements to produce sounds than through a sound method that is impaired? I mean, can you teach someone to become a photographer with a busted lens? The cost of having an only oral education is this.

In spite of my M.A. degree, loving marriage, two healthy children raised to adult hood and a very active role in the Deaf community, in many ways I am considered a social failure. Why? I am obese (over three hundred pounds), I have poor health that started with a poor digestive system from years of stress acid eating at the lining of my upper digestive tract, asthma, and migraines. I have serious depression which must be medicated to maintain functionality. I depend on Social Security and subsidized housing to help me have money for the times I can’t work enough to earn enough money to feed myself or my family to keep us off the street and out of soup kitchens (where we have been before). I am in what is called the lower social economic order and my children were considered ‘at risk’ their entire lives because of that label. Add $50,000.00 a year income and the ability to maintain it, and no one would have notice we were all that different. The problem of course is maintaining it. Frequent doctor and hospital visits can kill those opportunities.

I am a very creative (Artist, Writer, Sculpture, Photographer, Cook, Deaf Advocate, Conceptual Thinker, Expressive Language Reader, etc…), I am smart, I love people. I am also someone who unless I take exceptional care of self can get sick. In the last five years, I have finally been able to do that. It has been a very long haul to get to this point. I say it took about a life time. I jokingly said once at my birthday. “The first 20 years I survived growing up. The second 20, I recovered from that, this 20, I am trying to figure out what it means to be alive, I think….” That kind of sums it up. I am an example of an exceptional woman who managed to come out of the carnage with gifts to give STILL in SPITE of what happened to her. Let me tell you however, the slaughter, the deaths from suicide, drugs, poverty related health deaths, and crime, stuff we don’t talk about in polite company. Many of those people were my Deaf neighbors, friends, relatives, and part of the community I live in. Those are lives that would have been here too, if their souls had not been shredded. Why am I here and not them? I have no answer except this, I have a message, we CANT go back, we WONT go back, and we will NEVER forget…

March 3, 2012 Be there in person, heart, mind, what ever way you can. Learn about it, BE about it. You owe it to yourself and Deaf children everywhere. Stop the soul Shredding, and instead, lets be Soul Shining.

Nancy Louise

Once The Egg is Cracked…


Brood-Hen
Mom and her eggs
“Once the egg is cracked, you can never go back, because the yoke goes black, and the chick lays flat.” I have no idea where I picked that up from. But it basically says, dead is as dead does. It also pretty much says what a lot of professional feel that once our own eggs (mental) is cracked, you are dealing with damaged goods and well its pretty much trying to contain the damaged till most people die an early death. Ugh, a few, a very few few, will succeed beyond wildest dreams to go beyond those expectations and beat all the odds. I am determined to be one of them or die trying. I mean if I have to die, I may as well die trying to live, right?

I know a number of mental health specialist. It is rather common for someone like me who both works with those who have mental health issues in my line of work (ministry) and who deals with such things herself personally. For those of you who might be slightly less educated about this, mental illness does NOT mean someone is wacko thank you very much. It can mean anything from a temporary mild case of disrupting depression or anger issues to horror problems of schizophrenia where they are never going to be able to care for themselves alone. As for who is wacko, that usually a media or personal judgmental sticky which is inappropriate and never accurate. There is also another misperception, that someone who is mentally ill must of done something to get that way. Oh really? I supposed if eggs had a thought they would chose to rot? The fact that so many with mental illness desire to die, not because they want to be dead, but because they want to leave the pain, should be a clue. The human being prerogative is to above all things, survive. When that is disrupted, something is seriously wrong. So what can cause such a disruption? Frankly I think there are primarily three major causes. I do not speak from a Ph. D. just from personal experience and observation.

Environmental Factors (Abuse being the primary one)

Physical exposures to certain viral infections (which then infect the brain)

Family Genes / History (Hard to separate the two sometimes).

Did you know that showing your Son photos of naked ladies (the Pornographic kind) before he is 18 is considered sexual abuse? Yep it is. [A parent who exposes a child to intercourse or deviant sexual behaviors or pornographic materials is abusing that child. New York State law now clarifies that such abuse is a crime.] Exceptions would be, unless he brought it to YOU to ask questions. Bringing him in to look at your stash however, is big no no. If this was a tradition that your Father did with you to discuss the birds and the bees, you are then combining a family history with environmental factors. A tradition that is actually abusive. On the surface it might seem harmless and male bonding. One can do the same thing at a museum too with out going pornographic and exposing him to degrading images. Things that could trigger problems down the road. Such actions might also signal a sign of deeper issues in the family one might not even be aware of, just the simple fact there is pornographic material in the house signals that.

I want to go a bit deeper here than simple pornography. What about sexual abuse that happens before the child is the age of 5? It does not matter if there was no physical contact, if it only happened once, or if the person who had it happened to them understood it was not their fault and figures they have moved on. The impact, dang nab it, is still life long and disruptive for life.  I was raped repeatedly starting at age 4. Now at that age, due to my undiscovered deafness and delayed speech, I was unable to tell anyone, anything. I literally had no vocabulary to say anything. I do however remember having a torn pee pee, and Mom rushingly bathing me one time and being angry about it. (I was 5 at that particular memory). Growing up I kept wondering if I was a virgin or not. Oh I did so want to be and yes as I learned more English a lot of the memories I had of my early years did get packed away. Interestedly though, I keep the ability to think without words fresh. I found it stimulating as an artist and writer to do so. It was another language for me and gave me insights for my creative self. Much talk or dismissal has been mention about such repressive and recovered memories. Just how validated are they?

For me, the validation is ironically in my own mental illnesses, my disruptive habits, and unhealthy body. All footprints left that festered from decades ago on a very young mind-body.  If there is an interest, I will write more about this.

Nancy Louise

Grow where you are planted
Grow where you are planted

Brood-Hen
Mom and her eggs

I know a number of mental health specialist. It is rather common for someone like me who both works with those who have mental health issues in my line of work (ministry) and who deals with such things herself personally. For those of you who might be slightly less educated about this, mental illness does NOT mean someone is wacko thank you very much. It can mean anything from a temporary mild case of disrupting depression or anger issues to sever problems of schizophrenia where they are never going to be able to care for themselves alone. As for who is wacko, that usually a media or personal judgmental lable which is inappropriate and never accurate. There is also another misperception, that someone who is mentally ill must of done something to get that way. Oh really? I supposed if eggs had a thought they would chose to rot? The fact that so many with mental illness desire to die, not because they want to be dead, but because they want to leave the pain, should be a clue. The human being prerogative is to above all things, survive. When that is disrupted, something is seriously wrong. So what can cause such a disruption? Frankly I think there are primarily three major causes. I do not speak from a Ph. D. just from personal experience and observation.

Environmental Factors (Abuse being the primary one)

Physical exposures to certain viral infections (which then infect the brain)

Family Genes / History (Hard to separate the two sometimes).

Did you know that showing your Son photos of naked ladies (the Pornographic kind) before he is 18 is considered sexual abuse? Yep it is. [A parent who exposes a child to intercourse or deviant sexual behaviors or pornographic materials is abusing that child. New York State law now clarifies that such abuse is a crime.] Exceptions would be, unless he brought it to YOU to ask questions. Bringing him in to look at your stash however, is big no no. If this was a tradition that your Father did with you to discuss the birds and the bees, you are then combining a family history with environmental factors. A tradition that is actually abusive. On the surface it might seem harmless and male bonding. One can do the same thing at a museum too with out going pornographic and exposing him to degrading images. Things that could trigger problems down the road. Such actions might also signal a sign of deeper issues in the family one might not even be aware of, just the simple fact there is pornographic material in the house signals that.

I want to go a bit deeper here than simple pornography. What about sexual abuse that happens before the child is the age of 5? It does not matter if there was no physical contact, if it only happened once, or if the person who had it happened to them understood it was not their fault and figures they have moved on. The impact, dang nab it, is still life long and disruptive for life.  I was raped repeatedly starting at age 4. Now at that age, due to my undiscovered deafness and delayed speech, I was unable to tell anyone anything. I literally had no vocabulary to say anything. I do however remember having a torn pee pee, and Mom rushingly bathing me one time and being angry about it. (I was 5 at that particular memory). Growing up I kept wondering if I was a virgin or not. Oh I did so want to be and yes as I learned more English a lot of the memories I had of my early years did get packed away. Interestedly though, I keep the ability to think without words fresh. I found it stimulating as an artist and writer to do so. It was another language for me and gave me insights for my creative self. Much talk or dismissal has been mention about such repressive and recovered memories. Just how validated are they?

For me, the validation is ironically in my own mental illnesses, my disruptive habits, and unhealthy body. All footprints left that festered from decades ago on a very young mind-body.  If there is an interest, I will write more about this.

Nancy Louise

Grow where you are planted
Grow where you are planted

So will that be ‘Of’ or ‘From’ with your order?


Ah election year. Never is english (not English language but the more, ahem words that get thrown about in the guise of true language… moving on…), anyway, never is english banished about and torn apart over little words and images more than in election year. I have a real problem when folks brandy about their protest, or more rarely support, without also showing  the source of their information. Much is said about Freedom and Religion. I have to asked though, is the question Freedom OF or Freedom FROM? A bit of historical perceptive here. First Amendment Center of Illinois has a really nice site helping to clarify many things regarding our nations laws with NO Bias. (refreshing).

Pope Benedict
Who really decides your faith?

First off Religion and the Freedom about it is numero uno in terms of priority in our Amendment. It says freedom OF religion not FROM. Why? Because we have freedom OF we have no need for freedom FROM. Yet the way some people talk, we do! All medical insurances MUST include the right or access to abortion or sterilization. *Sigh* and because our medicine is becoming more socialized, people are demanding that every policy be the same in some regards but not have to be in others.

This causes me to pace the room a lot. Where we should be morally and where we are legally are two different animals and many folks forget that. Medications, procedures, history of knowledge and many other things tend to smash, dash, and pretty much destroy any form of purity when it comes to religious practices. Very Catholic women and men have been sterilized. Why they chose to have that done is a very private matter and gone over with their priest (or not). If the only insurance they have access to, is their Catholic based one, which does not provide that choice, who is legally responsible for paying for the cost? Well I am going out on a French Fry here to say, the couple. Why?

If you chose to accept the insurance as issued by the Church, and you want a procedure that is not covered by that insurance, and it is OPTIONAL, then by law and rights, you need to seek alternative funding or coverage. What if what the woman has done is to save her life? That is a whole other batch of laws and one I am in no position to debate or talk about. What I am talking about here, are options available for most of us who practice our Freedom of Religion.

Why can’t there be insurances offered by various Charities that happened to reflect the faith of that one? If there is something you believe you might need or want to have as an option, you can get partial insurance from a secular service. Or at least that should be an option. I see it as no different than going to an insurance broker getting car insurance and sometimes end up with a package that includes a diverse package of insurances to meet budget and fiscal planning needs.

I want the option to have a second cochlear implant, but my insurance will not pay for it. Options are for me to find a secondary or another private carrier that will supply or work to get me what I want (need). I want to exercise my freedom to have the best medical care possible. Sadly, as long as that will have $$ involve, it will always benefit those with bigger budgets than those without. This is where the arguments become contentious. Is it legal to deny a wife contraceptive because the husband wants to follow the full Church beliefs and never use them? As for the methods that are approved, ahem, they don’t tend to be very, reliable unless your periods are rock solid on time. HA! How many ladies out there can say that with a straight face?  So what is the option for that woman? Heh, believe it or not, she can tell her husband, no no not tonight, too close. I am too tired to number five child on the way! (as an example).

Point is, the contraceptive angle is not just a Church matter. It is a matter of two people who do the act of creating children and the responsibility that comes with that. Which is, if you have sex, you are making children. Flat out the truth, no getting around it. One can exercise by being chaste. This is not the place to discuss battered, sexual violence, and domestic violence situations. That is a whole other set of post. For everyday normalized relations between hetro couples… I propose that various religious services that want to offer insurances based on their faith be allowed to do so as they see fit. Along with the proper education of what that insurance entails. If there is something more they want, there can be add on insurances optional. Or, they can try to go secular and get a more standard insurance plans. In order to do all that, we first need to make sure its available.

What I see here is that insurance will become available for greater number of people, and capitalism will get to play on weeding out what works and what doesn’t. Or we can go a very different route and have a medical Share plan instead. This plan is based more on the ideas put forth most famously in the books of Acts. We do need to have something broad base to cover the most basic care to keep our society as disease free as possible. Public Health care has always been about, but many times it would be so drastically under served that when there was a true need, there was not enough people or services to staunch a crisis.

We do NOT need Freedom FROM Religion to be able to practices choices in our Freedom OF religion. What we need is freedom from rhetoric and loudspeakers squawking gibberish.