October Is National Domestic Awareness Month
In April of l970 and at the age of 22, I moved away from my parent’s home. I moved to the Washington, D.C. area. I worked for the Federal Government. I was scheduled to start my new job at the Pentagon the day after my arrival in D.C.
While my father, an officer in the U.S. Navy was stationed at the Pentagon, I previously worked there as well. When his Pentagon duty expired, we moved to Toms River, New Jersey where I worked in the Public Relations office at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station, the site of the Hindenburg Airship crash. I loved my job in Public Relations where I learned a lot about dirigible airships and the difference between their rigid structures and blimps. However, at 22, it was time for me to leave home. My plans were in order.
I was to move to D.C., work for a year at the Pentagon, then apply to a program which would send me to a U.S. Naval facility in a foreign country. I wanted to move to Brussels, Belgium. However, my plans changed almost immediately after moving to D.C.
On my first evening in the area, I met Bob Bibb, my husband of 46 years. He was a friend of my older brother, Danny, who worked and lived in the D.C. area. Bob and Danny met while Danny worked as an undercover police officer at the inner-city Safeway store Bob, a trained meat cutter, worked during the evenings and on weekends. Bob was also a full-time student at the University of Maryland.
There had been a rash of armed robberies in the inner-city stores, and Bob’s store was one of the victims. I lived with Danny and his small family for a few weeks after moving in April. Bob was invited to dinner on that first evening, the day before my future was to unfold taking me to Brussels. However, once I realized Bob was my future, I left the Pentagon and went to work at the Civil Rights Commission in downtown D.C. My life changed dramatically during those first few months, and I was, in a sense, reborn. It was, after all, 1970 and D.C. was Mecca for the anti-war movement.
Soon after meeting Bob, I told him a secret that I had kept hidden for sixteen years. Bob was the first person I trusted enough to tell my secret. When I told, Danny, his wife, Ava, and my younger sister, Gail were present.
Bob subsequently helped me schedule a meeting with a psychology counselor at the University the following week. I will never forget that hour.
I don’t recall what all I said during that hour as I cried my river of tears. I do, however, recall how the male counselor never uttered a word. He never asked a question, nor did he make any comments. He sat silently and listened. At the end of my hour session, he handed me a box of tissue then shook my hand. He never invited me back. Many years later, I learned that, in the early 1970’s, psychologists were only beginning to become aware of the crime of child sexual abuse. They were only then learning how prevalent it was and how traumatic the fallout was for victims. I now imagine the male psychologist I saw simply didn’t know how to respond, nor did he know what to do with me and the story I told.
I was a victim at the hands of my biological father. My first novel, Crack in the World, although not autobiographical, duplicated what happened to me. Emily, my main character, becomes a victim of her pedophile father at age six, the same age my father began touching me.
When I walked out of the counselor’s office, I was struck by what didn’t happen. As I left the office, I made the unconscious decision to internalize my experience and never talk about it again. The counselor’s silence caused me to determine that what happened to me was inconsequential. It didn’t matter. I was grossly wrong. However, I never again talked about it as the terrible thing that happened to me. Instead, I climbed into a suit of armor and resolved that I was bigger than what my father did to me. I made up my mind to ignore it all.
Twenty plus years later, when my mother died, my abuse came crashing through, and I once again found myself in the midst of its fallout. I became clinically depressed and, once again, sought the help of a therapist. This time, however, much had been learned between my first counseling session and my second. My second therapist, a female, helped me tremendously.
Over the years, and on a conscious level, I managed to put what happened to me in perspective of my life. That’s all a victim can do. There is never closure. That term closure is a mythical one. Anyone who has experienced a similar trauma in their life understands the myth of closure.
Although I managed to accept my abuse on a conscious level, the abuse haunted me, leaving me burdened with internal agony. That anguish manifested itself as dysfunctional behavior, leaving me essentially unhappy. I experienced mood swings which took me from extreme happiness to a dark place where I would question everything about my life. I felt helpless.
Until about seven years ago, I had resolved to accept my unhappiness as my lot in life. I reconciled that I was destined to carry around, what, years earlier, a male supervisor labeled as my excess baggage. Although I never told him my story, he intuited my unhappiness when he said, “Maribeth, I don’t know what happened to you. However, I hope that one day you can unload all the excess baggage you carry around. It makes me sad that you are so unhappy.”
I now recall thinking seven years ago; Maybe this is as good as it gets. Maybe I will never be as happy as I would like to become. While a part of me was ready to acquiesce, another part of me, the part I know as my warrior, decided to reject acceptance. Instead, I began searching for a path toward happiness.
From all my life lessons, I had learned that happiness comes from within. I knew no one person, other than myself, could help me find internal contentment or peace. I had to help myself. I had to find happiness on my own. So I set out on a quest. That is when I discovered meditation.
I don’t meditate in the traditional sense. I don’t sit in a lotus position, close my eyes and meditate. I tried to learn that technique, but it’s difficult to master. Instead, one day I ran into an audio program called Holosync. Holosync is a product of the Centerpointe Institute located in Oregon and is the invention of Bill Harris, CEO of Centerpointe.
Holosync is an audio technology designed to put a person’s unconscious mind in a deep meditative state. The “technology soundtracks contain certain combinations of sine wave tones of precise frequencies embedded beneath soothing music and environmental sounds” (Thresholds of the Mind, by Bill Harris). When listened to through stereo headphones, the stimulated brain creates new brain wave patterns. In other words, the map of the unconscious mind is totally re-drawn.
An analogy can be made using the mental image of a poorly constructed road which contains many twists, sharp turns, drop-offs, dead ends and is inundated with huge bumps, and behemoth potholes. With the use of Holosync, the brain is stimulated to repair the road, taking out the twists, sharp curves, drop-offs and dead ends, while repairing the bumps and potholes to create a smooth, relatively flat surface. The result is remarkable. I would recommend Holosync to everyone. In particular, I would recommend it to those who suffer from PTSD. Certainly, extreme childhood trauma results in a perpetual state of PTSD.
Along with Holosync, Bill provides his book, Thresholds of the Mind, which explains how Holosync works on the unconscious mind to undo that trauma, i.e., helps the unconscious mind put the trauma in perspective of “everything,” including perceptions.
Bill explains that the unconscious mind is where memories live forever. Since the unconscious mind remains hidden from us, that part of our self-awareness remains oblivious to the reality of our conscious world. Thus, it does not recognize time; i.e., it does not recognize that we grow up. Instead, as in my case, my unconscious mind perceived itself as still the abused child and thus, still in danger. So, all the behavior I practiced when I was a child and in danger, persisted into adulthood. Because those behaviors are no longer necessary, those same behaviors became dysfunctional, manifesting themselves as dysfunctional behavior such as unrealistic expectations, quick to anger and general dissatisfaction.
I’ve been meditating for over five years and am nearly through with the program. Although I will finish it in five more lessons, I will continue to use the program to meditate. In the meantime, my life has changed dramatically.
In particular, I recall reading Bill’s words as he suggested that one day I would realize that I am truly happy. When I first read those words, I was skeptical. I assumed it was a marketing claim. However, one day, as I drove to a work-related appointment, I realized and acknowledged out loud that I was happier than I expected I could have ever become. I’m more tolerant and not quite as hard on myself. I will always steer toward perfection. However, now, I believe my aim is no longer the literal definition of perfection. Instead, my aim for perfection is geared more toward improving my life versus actual perfection which we all know is unrealistic and impossible.
Recently I attended a function with my sister, Gail. The group she belongs to asked me to talk about Holosync. Later, one of the participants asked me a ton of questions. She disclosed that she too was a victim of sexual abuse. Her grandfather was the criminal. She told me she was at a crossroad in her life where she had gone the distance on a conscious level to undo the damage. She was ready for the next step. I encouraged her to look into Holosync. She did. She is now a Holosync user. She wrote me soon after she began using Holosync. She told me she was feeling the positive effects and was grateful for my taking time to talk to her group and her personally.
I am happy I didn’t settle for as good as it gets. I’m happy for my warrior spirit that inspired me to look and find the solution to my sadness. Holosync not only changed my life, it saved my life!