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I Painted the Light: Using Spirituality to Heal from Childhood Sexual Abuse
I Painted the Light: Using Spirituality to Heal from Childhood Sexual Abuse
I Painted the Light: Using Spirituality to Heal from Childhood Sexual Abuse
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I Painted the Light: Using Spirituality to Heal from Childhood Sexual Abuse

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When I was five years old, I painted the Light. I painted the happy space I went to while being sexually abused by my father. When the abuse would start, two adorable cherubs would appear and take me by the hands. Off we would go into the Light! We would fly about and tumble, laugh and be filled with joy. It was a glorious, fun and safe place to be. The Light saved me.
So when I was given the chance to create my first ever painting in kindergarten, I naturally wanted to paint this beautiful, glowing space. I painted the Light! I covered every square inch of my flip chart paper with bright yellow paint. I was so happy to recreate this space and share it with my dad. But my joy was short-lived once I actually unrolled my painting at home and explained my bright yellow space to my father. His violent reaction became one more incident that further buried the memories of the abuse.
I tell my story here to help those of you who have also been sexually abused. I went beyond the counseling and cognitive therapies, and found other spiritual and experiential techniques that brought me to a place of peace and wholeness. These practices helped heal my mind, my body and my spirit. I offer my experiences here so that you may apply them to your own healing journey. My goal is to help you see the Light within you, to find the peace within you, as I have finally found in me. May Divine Love be with us on our journey.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherBalboa Press
Release dateMay 2, 2013
ISBN9781452569994
I Painted the Light: Using Spirituality to Heal from Childhood Sexual Abuse
Author

Jeanne Grimes

Jeanne Grimes Brooks is a survivor of childhood sexual abuse that lasted over twelve years. She used traditional counseling and metaphysical methods to heal her mind, body and spirit from the abuse. Jeanne currently works on the Training and Documentation team at a computer firm. She lives on a lake in Ohio with her wonderful husband, Wayne, and their brilliant cat, Maggie.

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    I Painted the Light - Jeanne Grimes

    Copyright © 2013 Jeanne Grimes.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    Balboa Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

    Balboa Press

    A Division of Hay House

    1663 Liberty Drive

    Bloomington, IN 47403

    www.balboapress.com

    1-(877) 407-4847

    Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

    The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

    Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

    Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

    ISBN: 978-1-4525-6998-7 (sc)

    ISBN: 978-1-4525-7000-6 (hc)

    ISBN: 978-1-4525-6999-4 (e)

    Library of Congress Control Number: 2013905504

    Balboa Press rev. date: 05/15/2013

    Contents

    ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

    PREFACE

    PART I:        INTRODUCTION

    INTRODUCTION

    PART II:        MY LIFE

    GROWING UP

    THE FAÇADE IS CRACKING

    THE NIGHTMARES

    COUNSELING

    PART III:        THE SACRED HEART

    THE SACRED HEART

    HEALING THE BODY

    HEALING THE SPIRIT

    PART IV:        THE UNITY PRINCIPLES

    PRINCIPLES OF THE UNITY CHURCH

    SUMMARY OF UNITY PRINCIPLES

    PART V:        FORGIVENESS

    THREE LEVELS OF FORGIVENESS

    FIRST LEVEL OF FORGIVENESS

    THE SECOND LEVEL OF FORGIVENESS

    THE THIRD LEVEL OF FORGIVENESS

    PART VI:        SUMMARY

    SUMMARY

    PART VII:        AFTERWORD

    AFTERWORD: MY FATHER’S DEATH

    APPENDIX MUSIC LIST

    BIBLIOGRAPHY

    ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

    There are many friends and family members who have helped me create this book. First on the list, of course, is my dear husband, Wayne. Thank you, my love, for your encouragement and support during the process of writing this book.

    I want to thank my dear friend and wonderful artist, Barbara Lord, for creating the painting used on the front cover. You captured my essence on that day in kindergarten perfectly. My gratitude goes to another dear friend and great photographer, Lisa Maxey, of LAM Photography & Design for taking the lovely photograph of me for the cover. My friend, Jenny Shaw, did a great job editing my work and my friend, Cynthia Vignos, of Blue Moon Design & Marketing helped take my vision of the Sacred Heart and make it a wonderful graphic design. A big thank you goes to my friend, Michael Durbin, for first suggesting that I write a book so that others could heal from my story.

    My gratitude is expressed to all of the counselors who helped save my life and a special thanks to all of my wonderful friends who cheered me on with this often painful endeavor. I thank all the angelic beings and spirit guides who have been with me all my life, but especially those who have guided me while writing this book.

    A big hug to all! May love and light fill each one of you.

    PREFACE

    In 1986, I was a successful math teacher in my early thirties. I was living in a cute apartment, happily divorced and dating handsome men. I enjoyed laughing with my friends and dancing the night away on the weekends. I had a large extended family and I treasured our holiday gatherings.

    So why did I want to kill myself?

    Why was I counting pills and thinking of clean and pain-free ways of ending my life. What was this heavy underlying sadness that would invade my world at times and bring me down hard? I would often ask myself, What’s wrong with me? What is this darkness in me that feels so horrible and heavy? What is so bad that I want to kill myself?

    One day I was driving to my parent’s home. I was feeling incredibly hopeless and sad. I saw a huge, dump truck coming from the opposite direction. That’s it, I thought. I could end the suffering now and make it look like an accident. It’ll be quick and painless. So I swerved my car into the oncoming lane in front of the dump truck, bracing myself for the impact.

    But then I looked up at the truck in front of me and into the driver’s eyes. I saw his shocked face and his look of terror. I instantly realized that I may kill him too and bring sadness to his family. I quickly jerked my car back into my own lane.

    What is wrong with me? I asked myself again. This incident scared me enough to seek out professional help. I found a therapist and together we began searching for the root cause of my depression and my desire to end my life. I knew my childhood was a mix of love and abuse. There were wonderful camping vacations and family gatherings, along with physical, mental and emotional abuse. But nothing appeared to be so bad that it would create thoughts of suicide.

    Slowly, my kind therapist helped me unearth a forgotten past filled with sexual abuse. Hundreds of repressed memories surfaced of my father sexually abusing me from infancy throughout grade school, and into my teens. Some memories came exploding out while others slowly let me peek at the event in short glimpses. Thankfully, my personal counselor and a wonderful support group of sexual abuse survivors helped me through this time.

    And I healed. Slowly, I healed.

    The years of therapy helped me with the severe depression and the utter chaos caused by the new found memories, but I still felt empty inside. The Pandora’s Box that I had opened brought lots of negative feelings. I felt small and unsure. I felt fragile and insignificant. There were times that I hated myself and felt inadequate. I felt unequal to everyone else. The inner child was very scared. She felt very tiny. What could I do to make this child feel safe and sure? How could I make myself better? How could I make myself feel really healed? Where were the answers to feeling whole? How could I do this? I wanted to fully recover from the abuse. There had to be a way to fully heal and be whole.

    Counseling helped me in so many ways. I learned to set healthy boundaries, became aware of my inner dialogue and established new ways of being. But nothing in my therapy sessions made me feel completely whole. Nothing in the self-help books helped me get rid of the lingering pain and sorrow. Nothing at church helped me to deal with the deep feelings of shame and unworthiness. How could I piece together all the fragments of me to create a whole and healthy person? How could I feel confident and self assured? Where were the paths to find my way to the answers?

    I started reaching out to different practices like meditation, music and yoga. I came to find that the power to heal myself was within me. The power was WITHIN ME to heal. Not outside me, not from a book or from a therapist, but within me. Through a deep spiritual journey I found the true me hidden inside and allowed the sacred feminine to awaken and expand. The journey was long and hard and utilized methods not typically found within most clinical counseling settings. But my healing journey has made me whole, happy and at peace. I had to undo many teachings and learn new ways of thinking and doing and feeling and relating. I had to explore my inner spirituality on many levels. Many changes were to take place. Great changes! Wonderful changes! Painful changes! But it is all worth it. To feel at peace inside is a wonderful feeling that I wish for all of you. My goal is to share these ideas on how I combined the mind, body, and spirit into one cohesive unit and found peace within. You have peace within you too. We all do.

    It has taken me over six years to write this book. The process has been both painful and enlightening as I’ve captured my feelings and memories on paper. I avoided it for months on end, until I had the courage to revisit and relive the emotional events of my life. This was not written like a novel from beginning to end, but in bits and spurts, as ideas would surface.

    I’ve organized this book into three sections. Part One will give you some background information about me, my childhood, the abuse and my individual and group counseling. My hope here is to let you see into my life, so there is a distinct before and after impression of me. I hope to share how traditional counseling, coupled with spirituality, can lead to quicker, more in-depth healing.

    Part Two focuses on The Sacred Heart. The Sacred Heart has mind, body and spirit elements, and I’ll describe how specific spiritual practices can help you heal these components from the abuse. I’ll describe how specific spiritual practices can help you further heal from the abuse. I’ll share my own stories, tell you about my recovery and share recommendations for creating your own action plan to a more peace-filled life.

    The principles aspired by the Unity Church are explained in Part Three. They were very helpful in my recovery and I believe the spiritual messages within each principle will help other victims of sexual abuse.

    Part Four deals with the huge topic of forgiveness and Part Five is a summary of the lessons I’ve learned during my healing process.

    While reading about my journey, take what resonates with you and leave the rest behind. Some practices may feel comfortable to implement now and some you may want to do later on down the road. Some of the ideas you may never feel like practicing, and that’s okay. This path may not be for everyone. If my book helps one person feel better about themself and allows him or her to live a fuller life, then the time spent writing this is worth it.

    To all the counselors in the world, I offer this short note. You have a caring heart and a genuine desire to help others or you wouldn’t be in this profession. I invite you to consider incorporating some of the ideas in my book into your sessions with your clients, both individually and in groups. It must be frustrating to see your clients hit roadblocks in their recovery process. Allow the creative muses to enter your healing space and watch your clients blossom. Allow the left and right parts of their brains work together to repair the neurological, emotional and psychological damage that has been done to your clients. Please consider reading Gary Zukav’s wonderful book, The Seat of the Soul. You may find his material on spiritual psychology helpful.

    To those who teach counseling courses in our colleges and universities, explore the idea of adding these concepts to your curriculum. It is your duty to equip these budding counselors with the tools that will make them most effective in their practices. I encourage you to seek out research, beyond what I have listed in the Appendix, of the beneficial effects of alternative therapies when added to the standard cognitive approaches. My ultimate goal would be to change the way we counsel patients. Allow the models of therapy to expand to include the spiritual aspects of a person. By helping to heal the entire mind, body and spirit of a sex abuse survivor, you’ll make significant strides in returning that wounded soul into a fully-functioning, happy individual.

    I ask you to read about my healing journey with an open mind. Let’s start the wonderful journey to wholeness!

    Thank you,

    Jeanne Grimes

    PART I:

    INTRODUCTION

    I PAINTED THE LIGHT AT THE AGE OF 5

    INTRODUCTION

    I PAINTED THE LIGHT AT THE AGE OF 5

    I loved kindergarten! I loved playing with other children my age. I loved all the play stations where we could explore so many different toys and make-believe worlds. I enjoyed the teachers and their wonderful enthusiasm. I was free to learn and experience so many new things. It was the first time I had ever been read a book and the fairy tales were fun and fascinating. The stories had wonderful messages and colorful, imaginative pictures. I just loved kindergarten! My Appalachian culture at home was so dull and dreary compared to this bright engaging environment. I finally had something other than my sheltered existence at home.

    I also learned about finger painting. I was allowed to use a huge piece of paper from a flip chart—all my own! What a privilege to have a page nearly as big as me to use all for myself! I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to paint! I loved dipping my little fingers into the gushy paints. I loved smooshing the paint between my little palms and feeling it squish between my fingers as I clasped my hands together and squeezed. The slurpy sound and the slippery wetness were delightful sensations. Kindergarten was the beginning of my own personal expression of self.

    On my day to paint, I donned my Dad’s huge old denim workshirt as my painting smock. I dipped my hands into the yellow paint jar and began smearing the wonderful color on the page. I went back for more. And more. And more. I ignored the vibrant reds, the colorful greens, the rich blues and purples. All I wanted was the bright yellow. And on and on I dipped my hands into the yellow paint jar and covered the entire page. Not one corner of my huge paper canvas was left untouched by my little yellow hands.

    My teacher asked if I wanted to use the other colors or add some accents to my page. No, I told my teacher. I shook my head adamantly back and forth. I thought to myself, This is all I want. This wonderful, beautiful, luminous yellow! On and on I painted, covering every speck of white space with that radiant, shimmering yellow. And when I was done, I stood back with all the confidence of a self-assured five year old and I beamed at what I had created.

    There it was! I had recreated my yellow space! I had painted the Light! My warm, safe light. I was so proud! Wait til I show this to Daddy! I said proudly to myself. I was oblivious to the curious looks of my teachers.

    The paper hung on the draped line to dry. It must have taken much longer to dry than the other children’s paintings because there was so much paint on that paper. Other kids had painted a crude rendoring of their house, or maybe their Mom and Dad and the family dog. Others had created a modern art design with swishes of blue and a blot of red or a hand print in green. But no one had entirely covered their whole canvas with paint. And certainly no one had used only one color. My painting was so different than the others and yet I didn’t care. The excitement I felt was exhilarating! I was so thrilled about my yellow space! The anticipation of taking this beautiful creation home to my Dad was overwhelming.

    At the end of the day, my wonderful canvas was released from the metal clips holding it up to dry, then rolled carefully into a tube-like shape. A trusty rubber band was placed around its belly and then the masterpiece was placed in my now clean little hands. Oh, wait til I show Daddy! the little voice in my head screamed. Wait til I show him this!

    My morning kindergarten class was over and Peggy, an older neighbor girl, walked me home. My excitement was spilling over the top and I wanted to run the five blocks home, but Peggy would have none of that. We took our usual pace and it felt like an eternity. When I got home, Mom had lunch waiting for me and asked about the papers I had brought home. She looked at my painting and must have mumbled something about it, but I didn’t care if she even looked at it. I really didn’t care what she thought about it. This wasn’t for her. It was for me and Daddy.

    My Dad worked day-shift at a local factory and would get home about four o’clock every day. He would come in the side door of the house, climb the four steps from the landing to the kitchen, sit down in his chair at the kitchen table and take his work boots off. That day, I stood in the kitchen bursting with anticipation, eyes wide with excitement, my grand painting held tightly in a roll in my little hands. But I had to wait until the work boots came off before I could show him anything or talk to him about the events of the day. That’s just the way it was done. I watched as the long shoe laces of the work boots were unthreaded from the hooks along the top of the boot. Then the laces were loosened from the eyes along the front of the boot, and finally the boot was pulled off. First one—thud! Then the other—thud!

    By now, I’m jumping up and down, squealing with delight as I waited for him to finish. Now I finally got to show him what I made! I unrolled my painting. It was quite an effort for my little tiny hands to hold both the top and bottom of the paper, stretching as far as I could, nearly covering myself with that large canvas. There, Daddy, see? I exclaimed.

    But after my gleaming yellow masterpiece was unveiled, he gruffly growled, What the hell is that?

    I couldn’t believe my ears! He doesn’t know what this is? My little brain raced with confusion! I looked at my painting. I looked at him. What?! What do you mean, What’s that? He should be absolutely thrilled with my creation. He doesn’t even know what it is. I stared at him with puzzlement. I felt confused but still expected him to recognize, at any time, the beautiful, warm, peaceful place that we had experienced together many times. That glowing light that envelops me and takes me away when he comes to my bed and touches me.

    Well, what is it? he yelled.

    Daddy! I said. This is where I go when you do those things to me!

    Bam! His large dirty hand immediately took a full swing and slapped my tiny face, knocking me down. I laid on the linoleum floor in disbelief as he screamed at me, Don’t you EVER talk about that again!

    Stunned, I stare at him with my mouth open. I can’t believe what is happening. This is a good thing I’ve done. I’ve painted the Light! Why is he so angry? Why am I being punished? He continued to scream and lunged at me. I continue to cry. I’m confused and terrified as he rips up my painting and continues to hit me. What is going on?

    My confusion and shock are overwhelming. I had expected high praise from him for painting that lovely place that I thought we both experienced when he came to my bed. Little did I know that I was the only one who experienced the Light during those times. So instead of my painting being admired, I was being beaten and my work of art was being torn to shreds. His loud and angry voice was terrifying me with threats of further harm if I ever spoke of this again.

    I had painted my yellow God, my yellow safe place, the warmth of the deity, the safe surrounding of love and light, of peace and unity, of warmth and safety. I loved the sensation of floating amid the yellow light of joy, of unlimited joy, the safety of God, of Spirit, of oneness. A place of no pain, no cares, no anguish, no limits, no harshness, no frustration, no mental pain, no physical pain, no emotional pain.

    This is where I belong! Among the Lights. Among Spirit. Amidst the Love. The unending, undivided, undimensional Love. A place where I could float effortlessly among the other spirits, the other Lights, and be one with God.

    Here I would escape the

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