'I have been doing a lot of work around what angle of my story do I need to tell. I can talk all day about all the incidences that happened throughout my childhood, but I am not convince that my story alone is going to help others. I do believe though, what my background and history is, is vital to the entire picture. But more importantly is how I personally made it through the trauma, how I am surviving day to day life and what I havre done to continue to heal and make a difference in the world. So here we are, now I am trying to figure out what that fully means. 

I don't have all the answers, but I do know the work that I have done to get where I am today. I am no billionaire, I don't have some executive mucky-muck job, but I am a mom, I have a decent job, and I have created some spaces for victims and survivors to move to the next level, and I am thriving in small daily ways.

It wasn't always easy and there are days and moments that are definitely not easy even today, 26 years later. It is too easy, in our society, to be re-victimized and to experience victim blaming. I wish it were as easy as pulling up your boot straps and moving on. For some, I think it is possible, but for many, it's a journey.

I love reading other survivors memoirs and self-help books. You never know what you will learn. Everyone's journey is so different, I am constantly learning something new that helps me get to the next level. One consistent way to begin and continue healing (I have experienced as well as read in many self-help books), in many forms of trauma, is to write. Write, write, write and write again.  For me, the act or writing, being able to get the thoughts out of my head on paper, really began the healing process. This isn't for everyone. But there is something cathartic about writing.

If you are looking for a first step in your healing, no matter what the trauma is - addiction, grief, loss, abuse, childhood trauma - try writing. Here are some links to help you with some prompts to get your started.

Writing Prompts

"Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option." -p. saum
pennie

This photo is my mother, brother and I. We lived in Ft. Meade, MD at the time.My brother was 4 or 5 and I was 9 or 10. At this point in time I had been being molested and raped and sodomized for many years and one of two years, at this point, for my brother.

Every single picture that you will see of any of us, the entire family, just us kids or the three of us like above, was like this...the smile. The acting, the mask...this is what we all did and we were good at it. Recently my brother sat down with me to talk about what happened over the years and the impact it has had on his life. He and I have rarely talked about the abuse let alone any details. My brother was brave and vulnerable to share what he did publicly.

It was hard for me to hear at times, still to this day brings up so much for me - not protecting him from the monster and how I failed him. It is so hard to realize how much hurt and pain someone you love has endured. At a very young age. Abuse sucks, the impacts of abuse, beatings, being raped, sodomized and beaten down - changes your entire psyche. 

I have heard it time and time again. Get over it, it's been 25 years, if it were only that easy. I have come to realize that one thing that survivors hope for and yearn for is for their abuser to feel remorse. For the abuser to truly feel badly for what they have done. For the abuser to pay their restitution without a fight, for them to own the damage that they have caused and for them to make those hurts right. 

In most of the cases that I have heard about, this has been a problem, rarely, very rarely do abusers fully admit what they have done is wrong. Ours is no different, in fact in person, when I faced him for the first time in 25 years - he said, verbatim, "I see you have so much hate in your heart for me. God can help."

"God can help"???? Seriously. They don't feel remorse or guilt, most of the time, and our abuser is no different. 

My brother, sharing his story, made me realize that there is a ton of work to be done. There are so many abuse survivors that need support, there is all of society who needs to be educated and there are the laws and sentencing structure that puts people right back out to hurt more children.

Please be watching our blogs and videos...things are changing and we are going to make a difference. Hopefully you will join us.

"Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option."

I wrote this once before, in a different way.  It wasn't right and it was really bothering me. I decided now was the time.

Imagine this...12/28/2018, inside a small conference room, in a lawyers office.  The walls were eggshell white and there was a small round wood conference room table in the center.  There was just enough room between the table and the walls for the chairs and a little maneuvering.

I went in and sat down.  I scanned the small space, reminded me of a closet, although none of my closets were that size.  I took a deep breath and sat back in the chair.  I wanted to have the best posture and I wanted to make sure that I took up as much space as I could in that space.  I wanted to make sure that I seemed larger than life.  I wanted my presence to be felt hours, days and weeks later.

I had no idea how I would emotionally react. I decided that I was prepared for anything. Ground rules laid out:
1. No hugging or touching
2. No talking unless I asked for them to
3. No asking about my brother or my kids
4. I want to be by the door in case I needed to walk out.

The time had come.  In walked the retired police chief that was to be in the room as a gentle reminder for peace.  Behind him came the devil.  The devil was disguised.  He was wearing a flannel shirt, suspenders, jeans, and was crouched over a cane.  Every second or third small step the devil would try and take a deep labored breath. It was raspy and seemed very labored.  

He sat down and looked me in the eyes. I will never forget that look. That look of blame.  That look that is burned in my brain from 25 years ago.  The look I will never ever forget. A look that  at age, 20, my heart raced like no other time.  The person sitting across from me is the person that I help put in prison 25 years ago. 

For the first time in 25 years I sat across from my biological pedophile father.  Biologically, he is my father, or at least that is what the law says.  To me, he is Don.  Sperm donor works too.  He lost the title of father, the first time he touched me with intentions that no father should have with their INFANT daughter. The title was striped when he chose do do that and to continue to do that. I was sitting across from him for the first time, and I felt more powerful than any other time in my life. My heart didn't race, like I thought it would...I was calm and stared at him - never taking my eyes off him.

I was very calmed and even-voiced.  I wanted to remain calm to assure that he would hear every single word that came out of my mouth.

There was so much that I wanted to say.  Where would I ever begin?  I thought long and hard, processed with multiple people and decided to jump right in. Key things - defend my mother and address all the horrible things he did to her. Speak of the abuse with all the correct anatomical terms and assure that every act that her performed, every innocence that he stripped from me was said out loud in this space - to assure that he knew and heard that I am very aware of what he had done.

I was very direct and very clear. When I said that he could now talk...he wanted to know if we could have a relationship...Seriously? No apology - no acknowledgement really of true shape or form. No acknowledgement of the cousins that he molested. All of this gave me confirmation he was no different than 25 years ago, that day in the court room - when he stared me down as though I was the guilty one.  

That is when I realized that the child in me longed for a true apology - that one day that he would acknowledge and feel so much guilt and remorse that it would eat him up day after day. The myth that our abusers care somewhere deep down inside.  The reality is that isn't true.  This devil that I sat across from, may be my biological father, but I am not at all like him.

This meeting - was powerful for me, to prove to him that he didn't break me, that my mom was strong and then we broke the cycle.  He was an adult and he had a choice.That we did what he couldn't do.  We STOPPED the cycle.

Something to be said for facing your abuser - that moment you realized you survived, you made it out alive and you are thriving!

Thrive On!
"the time has come to no longer be hidden and silent," - pennie 

United States Army top security clearance.  Chief Warrant Officer. Ex-marine. Worked at the National Security Agency in MD.  Went to church. Taught bible school.  Helped with Girl Scout events and projects. Bowled on the base. Fished with friends. 

Imagine a happy family - church going every Sunday and at least one night a week for bible study or youth group.  Active in the military community, had friends over for games and dinner.  Bowled in the base couple league. Went on military sponsored trips as a family. Vacations, holidays, and other activities like any other family would do.

The lights would go off and this US Military Officer, ex-Marine, educated degreed, top security clearance - would take off his mask and become a rapist, pedophile, master manipulator, angry, violent violator.

He would take advantage of his position as father and he would threaten and use scare tactics to get what he wanted. He groomed us.  He wanted to make sure that we would play the game and we would do what he wanted.  He wanted to make sure that he would never be found out.  

And us...young innocent children didn't know any better.  What we did know was that this man controlled us, we had no way to put words to what was happening for anyone to be able to understand, because we didn't understand.

We were children.  When children are faced with a situation that is overwhelming, where there is no escape or way out, children learn to "go away" in their head.  That is what I did.  Like watching a movie, it was as though I was watching everything that was happening to me from a distance.  This aides in why details aren't remembered fully.  Somewhat like an out of body experience.

I was afraid, I was afraid of the threats that he made.  As I got older I was afraid that no one would believe me.  I was also very afraid of the consequences for myself and for my abuser.

I would blame myself, as I got older.  Why didn't I stop it, why hadn't I spoken up, why, why why.  Shame and blame drive silence and when you are a child, you are held captive - not only by the abuse, but by all the emotions and thoughts in your head.

I am sharing all this - because we have to change - we have to understand that abusers are not slimey scum people from the gutter. 

Child sexual abusers are everyday people.  Larry Nassar (gymnastics doctor), Don Delosh (US Army Officer), Mike Tyson (boxer), Jerry Sanduski (Penn State Football), Jared Fogle (Subway), priests, pastors, coaches, lawyers, military, teachers, scout leaders and the list goes on.  These are everyday people with everyday lives. Some are famous, some aren't.  

We as a society and the world, need to take the time to listen and believe.  Not question, not victim-blame, but we need to take a step back and truly listen and believe.

Things not to say to someone (adult or child) who is breaking the silence of their abuse:

1. Why didn't you say something sooner.
2. Of course he/she loved you, why would they ever do that to you?
3. Fathers have a special kind of love for their first born daughters.
4. Did you do anything that could have been misinterpreted?
5. What were you wearing?
6. Did you ask for it?
7. Why didn't you stop them?

It is time for us to break the norms, it is time for us to realize abusers come in all shapes and sizes, all types of careers, all types of backgrounds, all types of communities - they can and do easily look like the perfect person in the community.  We have to stop - pay attention and BELIEVE SURVIVORS.

“Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option.” – pennie
#SexualAbuseAwarenessMonth #ChildSexualAbusePreventionMonth

This blog entry is not a blog of excuses, this blog is the hard reality I have come to and want to share this journey with you.  It is extremely hard to admit when I am wrong, it’s especially hard to admit when I really need to self-reflect and change myself.  I wanted to share this, in case there is anyone out there struggling with the same or something similar.

My oldest son graduated in June of 2018.  It was a hard couple of years.  He was doing what teens at 16-18 should be doing, stretching their wings, tasting freedom and taking on more responsibility.  It was hard.  He had always been my guy.  We were so close his entire life and all of a sudden he was gone off with friends, music and school activities.  I was so concerned about what he was doing; I didn’t trust him and at the time he hadn’t done anything that would cause me to think otherwise.

As time went on, I was harder and harder on him.  Pushing him on grades, lecturing him constantly on what to do, yelling when I thought things weren’t going correctly, and really making life miserable on all of us, especially him.  He was trying to figure out who he was, he was fearful of adulthood that was coming quickly and he was trying to find his way through all of the struggles and pressures on teens.

I would lose temper more times than i care to count and looking back I have said things and acted ways I am completely embarrassed to even share.  I would challenge his every move, I would track him on his phone, I would call him and quiz him and the list would go on.  I so badly wanted to assure that he was always doing the right things.
During this time I pushed him further and further away.  There was a lot going on his world, terrible girlfriend, bad breakup, emotionally draining friends, school struggles, life struggles and more of the same.  I wasn’t the parent that I needed to be to my son at that stage in his life.  His anxiety and depression grew and I was no longer the person that he wanted to confide in or talk to, most of the time.

I had to step back and really self-reflect.  I had to figure out what was going on inside of me and figure it out quick.  As a child I had very limited control over my life or myself.  My body wasn’t mine to control, my emotions weren’t mine to control, my life wasn’t mine to control. The fake smiles that everything was always ok and the push to always be perfect was my reality. I was told what would be done with my body, what clothes to wear every day, what activities I was allowed to do and who I was allowed to be around. I can’t even imagine what my first 18 years would have been like in the age of social media and smartphones.

After therapy and hypnosis the reality became clear – my need to control my life and my world – became a need to control my children.  To do everything in my power to assure that they do the right things or what is right in my eyes. This need caused my oldest great struggle and stress and was beginning to affect my youngest. I pushed and pushed hard – impacting our entire family. After another session of hypnosis – releasing my need to control everything – focusing on what I needed to change in myself so that I could be the best version of myself ultimately helping me be a better parent, I felt a complete release. It was as though the weight of the world came off of my shoulders.  I have moments now, but I stop and think hard about my reaction. 

I never knew the full impacts of my childhood trauma.  The impacts of which subconsciously control my life and those of my family and friends.   I still don’t know all the impacts, but I am learning over and over again.
Parents, guardians, families…stop and take a look in the mirror, what are we passing on to our children, that belong in the past? I have decided our job is to equip our children to be the best version of themselves as they can be and for them to find their way to share that with the world.
​
xo
“Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option.” – pennie
 

You probably recognize this photo, as the picture on the cover of "Brave and Unbroken."   The picture represents so much of my childhood in one shot.  That is me around 2/2.5.  This is the living room of the house that we lived in while stationed in Texas.  Next to me on the left is a play phone, representing the child in me as well as the wind up radio - I had a lot of fun with those toys.  I loved to play telephone and tell stories, pretending that I was talking to my mom on the other end of the line.  I would wind up the radio and my mom and I had dance parties around the house.

The legs that you see to my right, are my abusers'. My biological father that admitted to sexually abusing me from the time I was an infant.  He was a smoker, he was inconsiderate and controlling.  When it came to his smoking, he smoked any where he chose, he didn't care who was around.  He would smoke cigarette after cigarette.  Ashes would fall of and go everywhere and it never seem to phase him. 

He was a groomer. He was grooming me for his sexual pleasure. He would play some of these games with me - then he would get to where he wouldn't and he would watch me beg him for his attention and for him to play with me.  From an early age, he would make me feel important and joke with me as though I was a lot older.  His jokes were as though he was talking to an adult, he would tell me how much he loved me and what my jobs were to keep the family together, as early as 4 years old I remember him saying those things.

His legs, in this photo, represent his physical presence everywhere I was.  He was always present, besides work. As I got older he would stalk me where ever I was.  Watching me at all my extra curricular activities, watching me from across the street during recess at school and always making sure that I was aware he was there or had been there. He would watch my every move.  I still don't know how he could miss work to come and stalk me all the time.

This photo represents my childhood being ripped away from, it represents the grooming pedophiles are so good at, it represents the silent violence that occurred day after day between the walls in which we lived. My fake smile trying to keep every one on the outside in the dark and everyone on the inside protected.

One in ten children are being abused. They are being abused by parents, grand parents, siblings other relatives, close friends and other children...we as adults have to stop the cycle and prevent child abuse.

We need to preventing the children from being thrown into the river, we need to move upstream and educated and stop the children from being pulled in.  That is our responsibility...being abused is not the child's fault. EVER.  

Guilt and shame is a real struggle for those of us that have been sexually abused.  No one wants to hear the details.  Everyone wants to victim shame and time and time again victims are asked what they did for the abuse to happen.

Children aren't asking nor have they asked to be abused.  I guaranteer my infant self - weeks old - didn't asked to be sexually manipulated by my biological father.

We must step up, do the hard things and stop child sexual abuse.

www.braveandunbroken.com
Stewards of Children Training - 8/21/18, 6-8p, Puyallup City Library, $10, Adults Only

The time has come to stand tall and Be LOUD.

xo
​pennie

My life is a bit messy - seems to have always had some bit of messiness.  I was thinking about social media today and how there are so many wondering things happening in people's lives.  That makes me happy. I know for me - most of the time I share the happy times, the fun pictures, the best moments - but in reality life isn't always peaches and cream.  

Like the time that I was in 8th grade and I had written in my girls bible study workbook that I wanted to end my life.  It was a hard time, I don't know that I would have ended my life, didn't know if I could actually follow through or not.  But it felt better to write it down.  My life was nothing but messy secrets.  It was full of masks...each day or moment, depending on what I was going to be doing or who I was going to be with, I would decide which version of me to take out.  

That day - I wrote that I wanted to take my life, I could imagine that ending the spinning in my head - would sure be nice.  I couldn't see any way out of it, except for something drastic.  The few hints I droped a couple people didn't trigger anyone to ask or to check more into my questions - and so I was alone in my own little world and in my head once again.

The day that I wrote those words, the announcement came over the intercom, during Ms. Henry's class. She was a strong, powerful woman of color and she was a woman that I thought very highly of.  "Ms. Henry please send Pennie Delosh to the office, her mother is here." 

My heart started to race, my mother never came to school, there were no appointments planned, no special events and I knew I never missed school for anything fun...so this couldn't be good.  Ms. Henry asked me to grab my things and head to the office. I did just that.

There stood my mother - 4'10" tall, fire red hair, pale skin and a look on her face as though she had lost her best friend.  She called me over to follow her out of the office and come be out of earshot of others in the hallway.  There she stood.  The grip of her hand on my arm was tight, she was holding my bible study workbook in her hand.  My heart sunk.  I never wanted her to know what I wrote.  I protect my mom, that was my job.  Do everything in my power to assure she doesn't ever experience any pain or hurt. 

My mind raced, what was she going to say, what was she going to do, that is when I noticed the tears streaming down her face.  She was expressing her hurt, anger and pain.  I played it off a bit, told her what she wanted to hear.  I was fine, wasn't going to do anything and that I was just seeking attention.  My mind raced, if I told her the truth, that my father was coming in my room nightly and raping me...that he was grooming me day after day to be his sex slave - to 
keep my family together,"she would be devastated.  She thought my writing these thoughts were bad, I could only imagine what would happen if she knew the truth.

The truth of the matter is - messy is real.  That is me...real and messy.  Abuse, my mother's cancer battle...climbing the corporate ladder as a woman and with only an associates degree...messy is the only word for it.  It's not been easy like many others.

Most of us have some messy - find your tribe - be truthful, honest and vulnerable...sharing your truth allows for others to find the space to share their truth. And the cycle begins...we all become truth tellers - sharing and asking for help and love and care and concern.  Truth tellers - voices - that is my wish for us all.  

Join me, won't you?
-xoxo pennie

​

This weekend I had the privilege of sharing Brave and Unbroken with many of you.  I feel completely overwhelmed.  I have received many messages since the weekend regarding the book and the message of Brave and Unbroken.  My eyes tear up as I think about it and my heart races.  Nothing compares to the feeling of knowing my vision of Brave and Unbroken, is actually doing what I hoped.

When taking on a project like Brave and Unbroken, I knew I was putting my story into the world and wouldn’t ever be able to take it back.  I have shared my background and experiences at a very high level for many years, but this memoir shares details that most have no idea about.

Growing in a home of abuse forces you to never share the real you, your true authentic self.  Being sexually abused by your father forces you to constantly scan the horizon and assure you are protecting everyone around you and you are always putting yourself to the side.  Never did I think this day would come, the day when the courage to stand tall and put my life into the universe, would come.  Never did I think I would be able to muster the courage or the voice to share the truth of my soul, the truth of a child whose childhood was stolen.
​
I have told everyone that has asked what the purpose of this memoir is, the purpose was simply this – to help one survivor, somewhere, find the ability to speak their truth.  Not to scream it loud, but to share with someone else.  Healing occurs when one can share their truth with even one person. That is what Brave and Unbroken is all about.
Someone recently told me, “but I am broken.” No you aren’t.  Your childhood was taken from you without your permission.  You are Unbroken and no matter what – your voice will find its way out.  Your strength and courage is deep inside of you. You are not alone.  I see you, I hear you, and I acknowledge you and your truth.
“Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option.”
 
Xo
Pennie

I turned 45 this past Sunday, and I now know that I can say, with the utmost certainty, I feel comfortable in my skin.

Since I was 16 I have colored my hair. Genetics are a crazy thing and gray hair started showing up at 16. I worried about being seen older than I really was and wanted to make sure my hair stayed young looking. My hair was also something I could control, in a world where I had very limited control.

Over the past 6 months I have become more lax with my hair, to the point a few months ago I went completely gray. Then I was bored with it, so I decided to go a salon. Rather than all over color, we used my gray and accentuated some fun colors.

The red highlights to my gray were for fun, I have no reason to hide the natural color of my hair, I have had people ask me where I had the gray done and how much it cost me!!

It has taken me a long time, but I am finally there, fully 100%, comfortable in my own skin. I have been criticized, chastised, belittled about my weight, my hair, my voice, who I am...I am over it.  As Brené Brown says...

"If you’re not in the arena also getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.
If you have constructive criticism you want to give me, I want it.
But if you’re in the cheap seats, not putting yourself on the line, and just talking about how I can do it better, I’m not interested in your feeback."

There is a small list of people that I care what they think, but for the rest - don't throw tomatoes from the stands - come directly down to the arena and look me in the eyes - then we will talk.

Today, a guy on the streets of Bellingham said, “Hey girl with the candy cane hair,” I turned to see who he was talking to, he stops to look at me directly, “you look great in your new car.”

Girl with candy cane hair, I finally made it...cheers to the next 45+.

Dig deep and find your “girl with the candy cane hair.”

xoxo

-p