“It’s not that bad.”

This is a wonderful piece by Aaron Paquette who also has a free PDF book available here.

“It’s not that bad.”

Said in compassion, these are still four words that nullify another person’s experience.

It takes away their right to mourn, to grieve, to experience defeat or loss. It says, “YOU don’t know how you feel, but I do.”

I used to be guilty of this, and probably will be again at some point if I am not present. It’s natural for us to want to minimize someone’s suffering or to offer a different perspective (especially if WE are the problem!) and so we say:

“It’s not that bad.”

If you really want to connect with someone and help them, you have to be willing to take a risk, to open yourself up, to be okay with pain.

Instead of taking away someone’s right to their experience, help them understand it on their own terms, in their own way.

Ask, “How bad is it?”

And allow the reply.

It might be uncomfortable to hear the truth, but it’s the only way to get through something, really process it and grow.

“How bad is it?”

Now you can have a healing conversation.

Because sometimes it’s really bad, and a burden too hard to carry.

And sometimes it’s not so bad after all, once someone is allowed to look at the situation without constraints or conditions.

A lot of people feel that you must NEVER focus on the bad or bad things will happen. Just keep your mind exclusively positive ALL the time.

That is denying the very purpose and path of experience and growth. That philosophy can be unhealthy when taken to extremes.

If you don’t freely acknowledge where the struggles are and what they are, you simply steal your opportunity to learn!

This also works for the state of the world.

And it’s a very good way to diagnose something honestly and then to work toward making it better.

After all, once you know how deep it goes, you have the map for getting back out again.

And so, “How bad is it” can eventually become, “So what’s left that’s good?” And “How much more amazing can it get?”

There is hope for you, for me, for All Our Relations.

And it starts by allowing the truth of the moment, of a struggle, of a feeling, to be expressed.

It starts with that level of gentle kindness and humility.

Hiy hiy

"Letting the words fall out..."

The sun is coming up, the birds are tweeting and my body starts to release the tension that is keeping me from sleeping at night. And then, on what I considered to be a "safe" page on facebook - I saw this image:

I have only been able to sleep during the night once -last night- over the last 3-4 weeks because of the PTSD flashbacks and this topic enrages me on a good day. Performing in comedy for a few years (stand up and improv) this is something I encountered a lot and for many years I just sat silently, swallowing my rage.

I finally spoke up after a joke about rape was made in an improv show billed as "family friendly", but it still took me awhile. I sobbed all the way home after the show and then gave myself a very short hair cut that night, which is a pattern I have of trying to make myself less attractive when I feel threatened) I spoke up about it in the discussion forum for the group; I was belittled, criticized and ignored, as was everyone else who disagreed with the co-director.

I joined the troupe in 2004, performed actively for years, supported from the audience when I wasn't performing and yet when I raised my concern the co-director (who joined the troupe after I did,  FWIW) told me that if I had an issue with the way they did comedy that I shouldn't be there. Oh! I remembered I actually have the file since this was a conversation on a forum so I can quote him directly. Keep in mind, this troupe is an actual business with donors and paying customers - it has taken all of my will power not to review them honestly and accurately on their facebook page, yelp, etc. (Which wasn't helped whenI saw an entire album  on their page of photos I took of the players that they didn't bother to give proper photo credit for, but, I digress...)

"If you have a filter that may get agitated, be warned. Those lines are crossed all the time.... ALL THE TIME..... If you can not handle that, then improv may not be the form for you. " 

Which is complete and utter bullshit. Comedy can be done in a number of ways, some prefer to work "blue" and that's their choice, but it is not in anyway indicative of improv as a whole. Jezebel had a great article about this:

the best comics use their art to call bullshit on those terrible parts of life and make them better, not worse.

This taught me that some people value defending their actions more than examining the motivations for them and that my loyalty to the troupe wasn't valued - by the co-director who told me to leave or the Executive director who demonstrated how little my loyalty meant by failing to address it at all. Ever. It happened  last summer and still not even an apology. I have already lost some friendships over the issue and I have learned that if someone doesn't understand how harmful words -especially words that trivialize rape- can be then they don't belong in my life.  I am actively working to overcome the traumas of my past and keeping company with those that trivialize my pain just doesn't make sense. That lesson enabled me to speak my truth in today's situation immediately (and not shove it down like I used to) and with less fear of losing "friends".

So this was my response to the "funny" beer picture:
I understand that in American culture making fun of rape has become popular and that critics of such "jokes" are usually criticized for being too sensitive and not being able to take a joke. That is a risk I am compelled to take in this case. The image you posted describes a violent rape in detail (not to mention comparing women to a beer bottle to be used & broken). I have always considered (name redacted)'s page to be a safe place but to me (and likely to the 1/4 women who have been sexually assaulted) reading that image was a huge trigger. I implore you to consider re-reading those words from the point of view of a rape survivor with PTSD and keep in mind that an American is sexually assaulted every two minutes. (http://www.rainn.org/statistics)
"He grabbed me around my slender neck
I could not call or scream
He dragged me to his dingy room,
Where we could not be seen.
He tore away my flimsy wrap,
and took upon my form.
I was so cold, damp and scared,
While he was hot and warm.
His fervent lips he pressed to mine.
I gave him every drop.
He drained me of my very self,
I couldn't make him stop.
He made me what I am today. "

Out of suffering...

There have only been a few books that when I encountered them I was simply compelled to buy, without any prior knowledge of the author.  The Prophet, by Kahil Gibran is one of those books. I saw it in a thrift store in Virginia in the 90's and although I couldn't tell what it was about at first glance, it immediately resonated with my soul.

Books have been one of my favorite escapes for as long as I can remember. I've been told that my mother read to me often when I was very little and I was reading by the time I turned four. When they were loading my mother in the ambulance I was calmly perusing my bookshelf to decide which books to bring. During childhood summers I  remember reading about a book a day.  Lovely fantasy worlds that I needed to visit frequently to survive the reality of mine. One of my favorites that I read over and over again was about a teenage American girl who found out that she was switched at birth with a princess. By the time I was in junior high I had turned to Stephen King and RL Stine. Even when I was grounded from everything else (which was often)  my mother still allowed me to read; she recognized it's importance and I am grateful for that. Not all of my memories of reading are happy ones...

We were on a long road trip, I was about 7 or 8, my parents were arguing in the front seat. I was reading in the back seat. It was approaching dusk and my dad told me to stop reading because it was bad for my eyes to read in low light. I closed the book and looked out the window for awhile. When the arguing got too much for me, I picked up my book again; escaping to another world in my mind was my only coping technique at the time. I tried to be sneaky about it and no one noticed for awhile, but eventually my dad realized it. He pulled the car over on the side of the freeway and told me to get out as he took off his belt. I wasn't really surprised, I knew this was a risk I was taking by disobeying. He had me walk around to the back of the car and put my hands on the hood; the familiar sound of the belt sounded different in the open air than it did inside the house. I looked around as the belt hit me again and again, we were almost to the overpass, but I couldn't quite see if there was water or another road beneath it. One car passed, he kept hitting, the rest of my family sat silently in the car. Another car passed. I stared at the back of their heads through the rear window; they didn't even turn around. Another car, and another.

Further astonishment at the failure of our healthcare system

And other rants...

I started paying taxes when I was 14 at a summer job and worked throughout the rest of my high school years, in my senior year working two part time  jobs. I've worked consistently and hard ever since - the longest time without a job before I became disabled was after being laid off when the company I was working for went bankrupt & I collected unemployment for 5 months. I didn't linger on public assistance and the only thing I feel entitled to is receiving the benefits that I paid into the social security system - it is social security INSURANCE  after all.

in·sur·ance noun
1. a practice or arrangement by which a company or government agency provides a guarantee of compensation for specified loss, damage, illness, or death in return for payment of a premium.

But instead, the government took  5 long years to finally approve my disability claim, denying it again and again despite multiple doctors disagreeing with them. How many people can afford to pay their bills for 5 years without an income? I couldn't. This resulted in multiple evictions and a credit rating that was so bad I couldn't even open a credit union account. I sold everything I could, including, eventually, my car.  When I was finally approved for disability benefits, every penny that I received from food stamps over the years I spent waiting was paid back - and I am ok with that.  Although, that money (About $6,000 I think)  would have been enough to get a car again and become more independent from the government but instead it was given back to the system - and there are countless examples of  how wasteful the government is with funds  (according to this source nearly $30 billion was wasted in 2013 - that's billion with a B!) Yet, so many people complain than the needy & "entitled" people are draining the system and the cause of our deficit. *sigh*

When my monthly disability check kicked in, I no longer qualified to receive AHCCCS, despite there being a 24 month waiting period from the governments "date of disability" (which doesn't start until 6 months after the date the Doctors declare permanent disability)  for medicare to kick in. So, for 30 months, someone who the government acknowledges is disabled (and therefore, logically, in need of ongoing and expensive medical services) is left to fend for themselves - and more than likely with horrible credit.  My situation is far from unique, the SSA says it takes an average of about 2 years for a claim to be approved - that is if they approve it the first time, which basically only happens any faster when you are on your death bed.

Lack of affordable health care is still preventing me from getting the treatment I need and I am far from the only one.  In 1998 this woman was charged more than $50,000 for one of the procedures recommended for me by the neurosurgeon- a laminectomy, and in 2008 this guy avoided the $75,000-$100,000 it would have cost to get the multi-level lumbar disc replacement surgery that the  the orthopedic surgeon recommended for me - by being part of a medical study for the experimental discs. Those are just two handiest examples of countless others going through this or worse.

 I finally (with much assistance from Kendra at Representative Ron Barber's office) got medicaid pushed through and back dated to January 1st, 2014 (which has little impact considering the surgeons wouldn't even schedule an appointment until I had Insurance). I finally got in to see the spinal surgeon on February 24 and on March 1st my medicare kicked in.  Apparently this happens automatically (and they deduct the premium automatically) if you don't mail them back the card saying you don't want it. The fact that I can not get to the mailbox in my wheelchair makes that difficult and now if I cancel it there is a penalty. I don't know what the penalty would be yet because the number that is supposed to answer these questions has had a message for the last 2 days stating they are unable to take calls due to technical difficulties and the day before that they hung up on me several times after waiting on hold.  There is  program that if I can work they will let me keep both insurances and pay the premium. They're main # is also unavailable due to technical difficulties. I called their non-toll free number & left a message.*

Having medicare makes receiving health care much LESS attainable in my circumstances - the math of someone on a fixed income (not just me, but true for so many marginalized populations, your parents and grandparents, disabled veterans) paying 20% of their surgeries and hospitalizations, not to mention monthly prescription costs and specialist co-pays....granted, math isn't my strong suit, but because the premium is 10% of my income , my rent is 50%  of my income,  and since I'm not medically cleared to lift more than 5 pounds I have to pay to have groceries delivered - not cheap, plus utilities and I do choose to spend on internet, but no cable. As it is, I was living paycheck to paycheck and now that the premium has been deducted automatically, this means calls to the utility company to request an extension and that the groceries I bought at the beginning of the month have  to last until my April check comes in.

With a lot of effort I can shower twice a week now - up from once a week. Still can't do laundry. I have 4 pair of pants that fit enough not to fall down too much and they haven't been clean in awhile. Since I got out of the hospital on January 27th to be exact. A friend and neighbor went out of her way to insure that I came home to clean dishes & laundry in addition to taking care of my dear Charly & Glitch while I was in the hospital.

My doctor referred me to a home health care place which can provide medical equipment to make maneuvering in a wheel chair easier, but also a portable ramp that would allow me to traverse the steps and go for a "roll". The other important thing that has been Doctor recommended since last April - shower bars. I managed to spend my savings on a shower chair, cane and grabber, but that in addition to my chiropractic bills & the veterinarian bills for Charly  have left me without the option to pay for those things out of pocket anymore. If it hadn't been for a friend giving me a wheelchair then I would be much worse off.  But the bottom line is,  had it been handled appropriately, I would have had my insurance on January 1st and would have made some actual progress - I think I could have at least gotten the recommended epidural shot before it switched to Medicare since it took about a month to schedule through Indian Health (after many, many calls - they originally set it for August and even though I would have to go to a medical center 2 hours away for the procedure, they could set it up 6 weeks sooner than through the Orthopedic Institute.  There is a fair chance that the epidural shot would relieve enough of the symptoms to delay having surgery, although it wouldn't solve any of the structural damage to the discs, it would reduce the nerve inflammation enough that it wouldn't be compressing the nerve that limits my ability to stand and I could regain a decent amount of function.

The spinal surgeon confirmed what my PCP told me, that the feeling I have already lost in my left leg is gone forever and there is nothing they can do to get it back. Eventually the compression of the L4 sciatic nerve  would cause the same permanent damage to the nerve that allows me to stand (which is already shaky & my leg drops like a ton a bricks with no warning). Hmmm, permanent nerve damage that prevents standing or feeling -what's that called again? Oh, yeah, permanent paralysis!  

According to ALTCS (a program for long term health care issues designed to help people who fall off of medicaid but still have medical needs)  I don't qualify for help from them either because , although I can not safely reach or stand things in the kitchen to prepare  food the representative sat in my living room and said "It doesn't matter if you can't reach food to prepare it, as long as you can lift a spoon from the plate to your mouth" they can't cover me.

(Luckily?) I rarely have visitors and of the handful (well, I think 5 would be a handful and I've had four regular visitors, so handful-ish) that I have had over the last 6 weeks , I've known two for a decade and two for more than 6 years. Thankfully, they care enough *not* to care how dirty and smelly my clothes are.

I've lost one visitor for good - the one who called me "Love Bug" and as hard as it is to further diminish  my social circle, (and my ego boosts) he had been lying about a pretty important thing - the state of his marriage. When I figured that important detail out everything changed. As of yesterday I told him not to contact me anymore and go to counseling with his wife. I am SO ready to break the pattern of falling for unavailable men and I look forward to the day when I can easily go out in the world, which I'm convinced will drastically increase my chances of meeting one versus not being stuck in my apartment.

One of my neighbors has been walking my dog for the last week which is great, Charly needs to get out and I certainly can't take her. The challenge has been that the time she can walk her is about 10am and I'm still not getting to sleep before dawn-ish.

*Got a call back and I spoke to a representative about the "Freedom to Work" (FTW) program  - which would allow me to keep both AHCCCS (our state version of medicaid) AND medicare. It would also cover my premium & whatever my co-insurance would be. However, she wouldn't give me a minimum amount of hours I need to work to qualify, and it took several minutes of asking the same question - how do I know how much tax to pay- to get an answer. She kept talking around my questions and told me I would have to estimate it, finally she said that I had to pay 10% of whatever income I earned to the IRS in quarterly taxes - submit the ledger of my hours, money order for paying 3 months of taxes and the month after I began paying taxes on this income then the FTW benefits would kick in. She did confirm that the book contract I signed doesn't count as employment and said there was no assistance/guidance to help people become self-employed (which I had heard there was).

TL;DR:
If I could get the treatment I need then I would be able to work enough to qualify to get the medical treatment I need to be able to work.  Quite the catch-22 the system has in place.

Comfortably Numb...

I ran away once, when I was about 9. I rode my pink bike and  I brought Peanut butter and bread with me. It was early on a Sunday morning  and my father was in town. I left before the sun came up, I remember watching the sun rise as I rode away, with the hopes that I would never have to go back. I rode my bike further than I ever had. I was on major streets and I wasn’t sure what I was doing. A man offering car washes yelled to me it would be “half price for the half pint”. I felt self conscious and even more unsure of what I was going to do. I had nowhere to go and no one to trust. 

Things were getting bigger and scarier so I rode back home, praying the whole way that my parents were still asleep in bed so that I  wouldn’t  get in trouble. I really thought that somehow I could make it on my own, I thought I was strong enough and would know what to do once I left but after realizing that I couldn't even deal with major intersections sufficiently, I hesitated. My hopes of escape drifted away from my heart like fog in a damp breeze. My only hope at that point was to get back before they realized I was gone, so my already tired legs pedaled faster. I tried to come in very quietly and resign myself to things never getting better; the only way I could go on is to close my heart – not just to hope but to everything. Nothing mattered any more and I felt hopeless and that I would never find a way out of this prison.

There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown
The dream is gone
And I have become
Comfortably numb.

~Lyrics from Pink Floyd- Comfortably Numb 

My parents were already awake when I got back, and there was not an ounce of the heartwarming welcomes so often portrayed in film and television. They weren't happy to see me and it didn’t matter. I felt numb and dead inside, which made the beating my father gave me irrelevant (until the next day when it still hurt to sit down).  My mother laughed at me and said with a sneer “I knew you’d come back”.

My family of origin told me from a very young age that I was "too sensitive" so I tried to suppress that sensitivity and those feelings. I have since come to learn in therapy that this is a common reaction to my situation:

One of the greatest “aha” moments of my training as a therapist came when I learned about the concept of the assigned “sick one.” In unhealthy family systems, it is often the most sensitive child who takes on this role. This child registers what’s broken in the family, and simply cannot bear that awareness. She or he tries countless ways of calling for help—many of which are convulsive, immature and unhelpful—strengthening the family’s case that the sick one is the problem. Yet in many ways, the sick one is the wise one, even though she or he probably feels broken, weak, or constantly angry. It’s the healthy family that finally becomes brave enough to listen to the painful callings of the “sick one.” When that happens, the family can begin to heal.

Love or Hyperbole?

I want to get back in the habit of writing regularly, even if it's not for the book. I'm hoping that doing so will help me get to a place where I can return to writing the book and still be able to sleep at night but I'm guessing as to how to get there...

Exhausting day so far - had my second counseling session (on 2 hours sleep) and I really like this therapist. She's kind, encourages me to be gentle with myself (especially while I'm going through this) asks good questions and from everything I have seen so far - she knows her stuff!! She's big on explaining the scientific and biological reasons  that our minds work the way they do - which happens to be one of my very favorite topics! Unfortunately she finishes her internship there next month so I will have to switch to another therapist. This was standard practice at another agency I used to go to,  the turnover was so high that in the last 2 years  I was receiving therapy  (or trying to) I didn't make it past a third appointment with any of them because they had quit or transferred - and I don't blame them, that agency was faulty on so many levels. However, the  agency I'm going to now has therapists certified in EMDR and  I've been wanting to try that for years, so they are going to try to get me with a therapist that specializes in that. 

 Had a surprise visit from J. this afternoon.  I told him I was struggling and could use a "totally non sexual hug" the next time he was in the neighborhood. (He is an ex- so I wanted to be clear)  He made arrangements to leave work early and was here  less than 2 hours after I texted , which I wasn't expecting! It was a great surprise, despite the fact that I was on the phone and missed the text that he was on his way so I answered the door a mess - no makeup, bags under my eyes, etc.  Because of the way he has always treated me, I don't feel self-conscious with me. We've reconnected recently and I have really enjoyed the conversations, his insight and his hugs. He "gets" me;  he can look at my face and read my mind so well. I think I do the same; I "get" him - we are both  complicated, multi-faceted, and natural chameleons. He not only knows how to give me what I need emotionally - but actually WANTS to! 

Jennifer Aniston knows what I mean:

   He has a very comforting and nurturing energy. I opened the door and as soon as he saw the look in my eyes, his face collapsed in sadness and he gave me a big hug. It's difficult for me to cry in front of others. I can discuss most of the horrific things that happened to me without even tearing up, usually. Every once in awhile a tear or two will fall in the company of a select few close friends, but silently...We came in, I sat on the couch and he sat in my wheelchair. He has many gifts and one of them is with silence. When he looks at me I see  the power of  honesty, unconditional love  and support in his eyes; it made it ok to let the wall down and the tears came rushing forth. A phrase I heard recently from S. that really applies - he is really good at "holding the (emotional) space for me" - so that I can then experience whatever it is I'm going through. 

 He knelt in front of the couch and hugged me, ( the rest of the couch was covered in paperwork) comforted me, held me and let me cry on his shoulder for quite awhile, which I really needed. In previous conversations he has told me how much he cares for me or how special I am to him but today he looked me in the eyes and told me he loved me, cherished me and would do anything for me.  I don't think I believe the last part, but appreciate the sentiment. He  still calls me "love" or "love bug"...*sigh* 

It's been about  six or seven years since we dated and we've both changed a lot. He said today that I know him better than anyone, because I've known him through  many stages of spiritual growth. He said he feels he is about to go through another spiritual shift and he's going out of the country next week to a place that he said has always been a clarity catalyst and has changed his life every time. I'm curious to know what clarity it brings him this time - I love watching people (myself included!) uncover the truths they have always known, but forgotten. My afternoon left me in the mood for a romantic comedy,  tonight's selection - "Hitch". 

Writing and waning...

"If you bring forth what is within you, what is within you will save you. 

If you do not bring forth what is within you, 

what is within you will destroy you."

  ~Gospel of Thomas

The secrets within me are indeed destroying me and the time has come to bring them forth. I just signed a contract for some of my writings to be published - in an actual, printed on paper- hold it in your hands- feel the weight of it in your arms- book. I've been writing for years,  but mostly for myself and  never with a deadline as important as this. I knew it would be challenging but I didn't realize the degree of difficulty that would be involved. I had been nightmare free for about 3 months, which  is the longest I've been without them in more than a decade.  After only a few weeks of recounting the realities that have been recurring in my nightmares for more than 20 years I stopped being able to sleep at night or even in bed at all. For the last 2 and a half weeks I haven't been able to fall asleep before the sunrise, usually about 5 or 6 am but sometimes I'm up until as late (or early?) as 9am. 

Countless times I catch myself having to unclench my hands and my jaw or have to remind myself to breathe. Which is difficult when it feels like a boa constrictor has permanently set up residence around my ribcage. My shoulders refuse to stay at shoulder level and instead insist on climbing as close to my ears as they can. I try to  distract myself with movies or games in hopes that it will help me relax. My body is alert and awake while being simultaneously exhausted and much more so at night that during the day. When I'm finally to the point that I'm ready to attempt sleep having a favorite movie on helps me be able to close my eyes. The audio helps keep me anchored in the present and when I have a flashback or intrusive memory I can open my eyes and hurl my mind into the movie.  Eventually I close my eyes again and hopefully fall asleep without another flashback, but most nights this cycle repeats several times.  

Then there's the fact that I have been nauseated for at least part of every single day for as far back as I can remember. Doctors haven't found a medical reason and have prescribed 4 different anti-nausea medications over the years - none of which had any effect except when relieving the nausea caused by morphine in the hospital. Today it was 10:30pm before I realized  I hadn't eaten anything since getting up at noon. I managed to drink some milk and entirely too many glasses of Dr Pepper but the thought of swallowing food ...ugh....not happening today at least.  Once or twice a week a particular food will sound appetizing but after a few bites it usually doesn't seem worth the effort of overcoming not only the nausea but also the craniofacial issues, which are myriad. 22 screws in my jaw and a septum that was mangled in the jaw surgery and later crushed in 2 separate car accidents. Despite the original septoplasty and revision septoplasty where they placed bone grafts to hold open my nasal passages, I can barely draw in air through my nose. Luckily I'm usually eating home alone & my pets have yet to complain about me eating with my mouth open.

"How Secrets Sabatge:
Although we encounter secrets in every area of life, they are perhaps most destructive when kept in the home. Families are support systems; our identity and ability to form close relationships with others depend upon the trust and communication we feel with loved ones. If family members keep secrets from each other--or from the outside world--the emotional fallout can last a lifetime.   A person who seeks to undo the damage caused by family secrets must accept that revealing a secret is not a betrayal but a necessity ...the secret wedges a boulder between those who know it and those who don't."   

I've been questioned by extended  family as to why I don't speak to my parents, even scolded for not doing so. I have always been afraid of answering that question honestly because the reaction of the other person is so unpredictable and my honest answer would make me feel very vulnerable. There are so many members of my extended family that I would love to have relationships with but with this secret wedging " a boulder between between those who know it and those who don't.", it is impossible to establish a wholly authentic relationship.  Those who don't know have a different version of family history than I do and therefore have an entirely different expectation of my role in familial interactions. 

I went into foster care because because I couldn't handle the secrets anymore. When I went into foster care I had already told my best friend and my boyfriend everything- they were safe to tell - but I wasn't able to tell anyone else that I had been molested on a regular basis for years. In court ordered therapy they had me take 6 hours of tests. When the Dr discussed my results, it was with me, my brother and sister in law (who I was living with in kinship care by that point) in the room. So when he said the tests indicated I had been repeatedly sexually abused, I wasn't able to tell them the truth. I told my mother the first time it happened and she didn't believe me, I had no reason to think my brother or sister in law would be any different. I told my brother and sister many years later after I had moved to the other side of the country. It wasn't well received by either of them so I stopped telling family.

"Since individual well-being takes a backseat to group fidelity, being the family member who challenges internal secrets is difficult. Taking the risk of opening a long-held secret to friends and loved ones may seem like an act of betrayal. The anticipated catastrophe of exclusion from the family stops many people--often long after leaving home."