Please Return To Your Glass House

I’ve missed all of you, ok not true. How about, I’ve missed all but three of you ! Sooooo, to those three followers of mine that are filled with hate and contempt, please return to your glass houses.  I’m not going to ask you to stop spewing your hate, because I am thick skinned and can take it.  My hope is as long as you continue to attack me, you will leave another that may be more sensitive ALONE.  However, your comments are irrelevant to my blog, and will never be approved for the public to view.

To everyone reading this that has no idea what I’m talking about:

The Three Stooges seem to think my blog is “bullshit”, that I’m playing victim, looking for sympathy, and am just an all around rotten person, that needs to end my life immediately. To quote one of them, “Please just kill yourself now and allow the air that you breath for a person that is worthy.” Another quote, ” Your blog is meaningless, it sucks, you have zero grammar skills and are not a writer, I wish you would commit suicide.” There are many more that I won’t give the stooges the satisfaction of quoting, but I think everyone gets the picture. There will always be haters regardless of what a person writes about. If I wrote about food, viewers would attack and hate the recipes. Unfortunately, hate and attacking others is just human nature.  In fact, I am as guilty as the next person when it comes to the natural instinct to criticize, or lash out. I try very hard to not react. I’m making progress, and I’m tested weekly. In fact a month or so ago, I had someone playfully spit in my face. My natural reaction was to break my foot off in her ass. Had she of done this years ago, the end result would of been a brawl.

So let’s talk about my blog.

I am not a professional writer, I am completely AWARE that my grammar is horrible.What I have is a TRUE story to tell.  Every post is the truth, if not, don’t you think I would have dozens of pending lawsuits? These people I write about love to sue. Any legal situation I write about, I provide the dates, case numbers , county and parties involved.

My blog is about child abuse, the child abuse I suffered. The only person that physically abused me as a child is the person that birthed me, my so mother. My blog is a journey of how that abuse screwed me up emotionally. How I lacked the ability to trust, love, have compassion, parent and function normally in society for decades.

My blog is also about domestic violence, how for years I chose partners that repeatedly abused , beat me, stabbed me, raped me.  My poor choices in relationships were a direct result of years of child abuse. Thankfully I was able to break that cycle in my 30’s when I married the love of my life……we are still married.

My blog is about covering up abuse.  My mother was/is a monster , that brainwashed me and taught me to lie. She taught me to never talk about what was going on in our daily home life. Why? Because people wouldn’t like me if they knew the truth.  She said she beat me because I was a very bad, bad  little girl. In my home, we covered up everything that wasn’t rainbows and unicorns. If my mother didn’t want to go somewhere be it a family function, community event she lied, most people would  just say I don’t want to go. She would pretend to be a friend,  pretend to like the neighbors, the church people etc, be kind to their faces and then rage about how she loathed and disliked them behind their backs. Again she taught us to lie, never speak the truth cover up and be deceitful, that’s how we lived. My mother hated her husband, she hated her life, and most of all she hated everything about me.

My blog is about exposing the coverup, not only my mothers abuse toward me, but what I hid for years. Regardless of the backlash of this blog, and there has been more than I EVER expected.  Think about this, how hard do you think its been for me to find employment? I’ve exposed myself to the world, my dirty little secrets, my criminal past of 25 years ago. I allowed myself to be completely vulnerable to all the haters and skeptics.  I sacrificed a career of 20 years, that I busted my back to create, a career that was exciting and lucrative. I walked away from it, I QUIT, because I refused to be threatened of my past ever again. I quit and knew the risk and started this blog. I EXPOSED MYSELF. I’ve lost almost all and any family I had left.  The majority of friends I had for over 25 years in Oregon are non-existant, except for a few that truly love me and understand abuse. But I’m ok with that, I understand, this shit is heavy, it’s raw, dirty and hard for most to comprehend, let alone talk about it.

My blog is about survival. Surviving abuse, abandonment, homelessness, poverty, helping others escape child abuse and domestic violence. Surviving the backlash from my children. I don’t consider myself a victim, and damn it don’t give me that label !

This blog is also about raising children and adoption. It’s only been recently that I discovered psychologically I was unable to raise daughters. My daughters were adopted. I have a strong bond and relationship with one of them, and my two beautiful grandchildren as well as my daughters adopted parents. They went through so much crap with me 30 years ago,  I’ve repeatedly put them through the , “Do you still love me now test” they still love me, and support me emotionally, and my journey. We have a rare unconditional love, they understand me and they understand abuse.

My blog has helped many survivors of domestic violence, they call me, they email me. I understand them. I’ve cried on the phone with child abuse survivors that discovered my blog. Their stories are similar to mine, lies, coverup, PTSD and survival. I know I’ve helped many, and they have supported me. That was one of my goals with this blog. The other goal, was to expose myself, so that no one could hold anything over me as blackmail ever again.

So to recap this post, I’m a horrible writer, I don’t need anyone following me to tell me so. I’ve made horrible choices, that I take full responsibility for. I’ve hurt my children. I covered up my life for years….. but was it really your business? I had rotten decision making skills.  Poor friend choices. If I chose to end my life it will be because I have no strength to move forward, not because one of the three stooges pushed me over the edge. You see, I can’t allow you to have that power over me.

Now, come out of your glass house’s and have the guts, courage and strength that I have within me, start a blog. Send me the link.

Posted in Adoption, Child Abuse, cyber bullying, Traumatic Experiences | Tagged , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Protected: Enough Of Life’s Lessons Already !

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Posted in childhood friends, Domestic Violence, Healing and Recovery, Life Lessons, starting over | Tagged , , , , ,

Protected: It Hit Me Hard

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Posted in Domestic Violence, PTSD, Suicide | Tagged , , , ,

A Battle I May Lose


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The Day I Was Stabbed

Today is the anniversary of when I was stabbed. The memories are even heavier and darker. The emotions are raw and indescribable.

Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments

How An Abused Little Girl from Italy Helps Millions

Note from Becki: This is a guest post from Chris McMurry, who I met today along with his father, Preston. Their story is interesting and I wanted them to share it.

Summary“I recently contacted Becki Duckworth, the owner of this blog, about, a new, first-of-its-kind searchable online and mobile database of domestic violence programs in the US. You can read more about the free service from Theresa’s Fund and National Coalition Against Domestic Violence here.

As it turns out, Becki lives in the same community as I do. She is new to town. I figured she could use new friends. And having read her story, I thought it would be healing for her to hear a similarly remarkably tale my father, Preston, recounts about his second marriage and wife; a chronicle that gave rise to Theresa’s Fund and all the good it has done since 1992.

The origins of Theresa’s Fund reach back to the conclusion of World War II, to a ravaged Italian nation and a child fathered by a wandering shepherd and sometime coppersmith. High upon a mountain top, 100 miles east of Rome, a child was born who would, in her time, bring both heart-ringing sadness and opportunity for renewed life to people living across the U.S. Her name is Donna Theresa.

She was born the sacrifice. Emotionally detached from the events of her horrific childhood abuse in a desperately successful triumph of sanity and human endurance, the price she paid for survival was a total loss of her childhood memory. Gone forever are the memories of a broken hip and eardrums, tortured by the coppersmith’s fire and worse; then finally her rescue and adoption by loving American parents by age 5, who renamed Theresa … hoping to blot out the past … to Donna.

But children are who they are going to be by that age. So Donna unknowingly carried the physical and emotion scars of her personal tragedy into her adult life and into her first marriage with my father, Preston, himself an abused child. It was a marriage of souls at peace. It was a compassionate union. Yet childhood ghosts haunted their relationship.

They struggled privately and without complaint. They sought help. For ten years they attended weekly counseling sessions. Donna would come and go, periodically, as the exploration of the past occasionally became overwhelming. The couple soldiered on and progressed, and the decision was made to answer the question everyone must know: who am I and where am I from?

Donna was born in Agnone, Italy, a village teetering on a cliff edge, overlooking a valley of vineyards. Millenniums past, the Romans fought and died there along a meandering stream. Today the ancient discolored buildings of stone and peeling stucco cling to one another for support. The streets are shaded, cool and cobbled in granite taken from nearby hills where sheep graze in the summer months.

The sound of footfalls and bubbling fountains echo along narrow streets, but there is not a word to be heard about the secrets of the private lives living there. Some things are “as forgotten,” they say. But Donna needed spaces filled in where emptiness existed. With Preston, the couple drove east from Rome through mountain passes and across a valley back home, as though back in time to Donna’s birthplace.

Aided by a young woman, a local English teacher, they found the city courthouse, a dark and musty place. As luck would have it, the young woman’s father was the local judge. He woke the clerk of courts on the day they arrived in Agnone. Encouraged, the huge book of Births and Deaths, was retrieved by the clerk and opened, beginning the long, and for Donna, the agonizing search for her roots.

Finally, after much turning and racing down dust-covered pages, the clerk’s finger stopped. He paused, looked at Donna, then spoke words foreign to her conscious memory, uttering the name that would have a life-altering impact.

“Theresa,” the clerk whispered. “My name is Giovanni. I am five years older than you. I remember you. We played together in la piazza.” Then the rest of the story came tumbling out. Three half sisters still living; two in Italy and one somewhere in America. Different fathers. Alcoholism. Both parents deceased at early ages. There followed a visit to a long empty home where she had been born 35 years earlier on a dirt floor, and then, the refused invitation to visit her parent’s grave site.

The discovery was neither the beginning nor the end. But, it was the beginning of the end for Preston and Donna’s marriage. The trauma of discovery and the reawakening was more than the marriage could sustain. Some short time after the couple returned from Italy, Preston arrived home one night from a short business trip. He entered his home. He discovered it was empty. His beloved wife gone. All that remained were his books, clothes, a bed and his TV. No note, no message, not even a phone call. Theresa has simply vanished. And with her Donna. The date was April 23, 1990.

During the following years that my father required for recovery, from the shock of his loss, he resolved to “do something about child abuse and family violence.” That something became his crystalline clear purpose in life through the creation of Theresa’s Fund, which has gone on to help change the landscape of domestic violence services and awareness in Arizona, and now through, across the country.

In August of this year, on the very same day that Donna Theresa passed away from inoperable cancer, the new site that promises to help millions of victims fittingly and coincidentally launched. Some years before this time Donna Theresa and Preston had reconnected as friends. Before she died, Donna Theresa asked Preston to give her eulogy, which he did. She also asked that he join her second husband Frank to deliver her ashes to Agnone. Which they will do together early next year. At long last, there was peace.

Thank you Becki,

Chris McMurry
Director of Theresa’s Fund”

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Sleep Interupted, She’s Back

becki bruises

The dreams are vivid, the pain is real and raw. The vicious attacks I suffered as a child are haunting me, interrupting my sleep, and causing extreme anxiety. My mother would be happy knowing she’s still causing me pain. The nightmares are so realistic, I smell the stench of her sweat, I feel the fear that she may kill me.  It’s been 37 years since she last beat me. The majority of the beatings I remember started at 8 years old and ended at 15 years old, when I eventually escaped. But I do remember several from when I was around 5 years old because of the location we lived. When I was 5, her weapon of choice to strike me with was my baton.  She eventually broke that baton across my back. Continue reading

Posted in 1-800-799-7233, abused by mother, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, National Domestic Awareness month | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments

In Memory of My Friend Sharon

In Memory of My Friend Sharon.

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#Why I Stayed , #Why I Left

It’s trending on Twitter, the elevator punch seen across the world. You know the one !Ray Rice the former Baltimore Raven’s running back, knocks his then fiance’, Janay out cold. This happened on camera at an Atlantic City Casino in an elevator. Preceding this altercation, the vile Ray spits on his then fiance’, also caught on camera. After Ray knocks Janay out in the elevator he’s seen dragging her unconscious body from the elevator to the lobby. Continue reading

Posted in Domestic Violence, Domestic Violence victims, Healing and Recovery, Janay Rice, Knocked out in Elevator, Ray Rice | Tagged , , , , , | 26 Comments

The Thief Has Returned

The thief has once again arrived and is attempting to steal my soul. All I can take solace in at the moment is I know I am not alone.

Ive attempted three times since Monday to blog about this, each time the thief stole the words from my soul. The thief is depression, it’s a soul sucking debilitating illness that is all consuming.

Suicide is probably what’s triggered my latest round of depression. Jennifer from Newberg, Oregon committed suicide, soon thereafter Robin Williams and last week, Derek also from Oregon took his life.  My heart aches for all three of these wonderful people, depression got the best of them and they were unable to live another day on this planet. Continue reading

Posted in Depression, Suicide | Tagged , , , | 33 Comments