I received this comment from someone who is hurting on my post “Don’t Be An Idiot.” I assume it is a woman and she said… 

“I read this and it made me cry. You make it sound so easy. I have followed you for a long time and I get inspired by your honesty about your struggles, but then I get sad because I can’t seem to get passed the pain like you have.”

My intention was never to make “it” sound anyway.  I have struggled a bit with how much to share here. As I have mentioned before when I first started writing this blog it was for me and my daughter and no one read it. I wrote what I felt without regard to anyone else, but as people started to read and as women started to come forward and tell me I was helping them, I did feel a responsibility to be strong.  I was in many ways strong, but even on days I wasn’t, I tried to be.  I think there are several posts on here that show just how “not easy” it has been for me. Everything I have said was/is honest and true, but it isn’t the entire picture of me or my life.  I didn’t write every single time I had a hard day. It hasn’t been easy.

Some struggles I didn’t share because I wasn’t ready.  I wrote several times about “his” breath on my neck, posted the post and then went back and removed it.  Reading it made me sick.  I wanted to be honest, but I couldn’t be.  Those days were the days I wanted to scream and yell and I would write a crazy venting post and then I would stuff it.  I never fully lost it, but there have been glimpses. I felt ashamed that I had covered up so much of my attack, but I just couldn’t have those words out there yet, so many times I took them back.  I was ashamed and embarrassed, but I didn’t want to be.  I was internally and externally fighting myself.  I didn’t want to be sad or hurt, but I was and as I tried to process that, sometimes I wasn’t able to share it fully. Things came out ugly and disjointed or at least that is how it felt. I wanted people to see the reality of what I was going through, I just didn’t always know how. I didn’t want to paint a rosy picture, but I also wanted to do things that would help me move on positively. That in itself was a struggle.  It was not easy.

Some struggles I couldn’t write about because they involved other people. When E was hurting and my 13 year old was angry and my marriage was aching, I couldn’t write that.  I couldn’t hurt them anymore than I already had.  That 2 month period of hell was excruciating. It was during this time I met Arete.  My mind, unconscious to me, saw him as a safe place. I didn’t know him well.  He was nice, but I knew he didn’t care about me; I couldn’t hurt him physically, emotional or mentally, so my mind let me unload.  Unfortunately, this was not really constructive unloading.  I didn’t talk about my attack or my fears or anything rational, I would just lose my mind and say incoherent crazy things. Fortunately, it was a pretty short breakdown. When I say breakdown, I mean when I was around him or would talk to him I was crazy, but when I wasn’t I was fine.  It was a very strange time. It was the most miserable I had ever been, but I also had moments of great joy. It was the end of many things, but it was also start of me finding my place again. As insane as that period was, it was good. Letting myself hurt was a great catalyst(an agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action).  It was what I needed and it was the beginning of a very healing time in my life. But, it was not easy.

I had been moving forward almost since the first day after the mugging with a few set backs here and there. I can honestly say everyday has been a step forward into a better, happier life. But, it was not easy.

I was determined.  From the minute “he” got off of me and I got into my car, I was determined. I was determined to not only learn how not to be a victim, but to be secure and happy again inside myself. The fear, the pain, the loss, the uncertainty, the set backs, didn’t stop me.  I was resolute in my determination not to let him win.  I was determined to have a life of joy and of peace.  All my energy went into that and for the past 14 months, that has been my constant focus. But it was not easy. 

As I worked through the pain, as people supported me and offered me advice I was able to add tools to my healing kit.  Bit by bit, I decided I would not feel guilty anymore.  That I would not feel ashamed.  That even when I said or did something embarrassing I wasn’t going to beat myself up. Writing was very cathartic for me, but I had to follow through.  I had to not only write I wasn’t ashamed, I had to have the courage to say the things I had been hiding.  I know that words are helpful, but the action of doing, that is what heals.  Writing this blog may have helped a few folks, but my words only having meaning if they inspire action. The power is in the doing. But, it won’t be easy.

I am not a counselor, I don’t know how to help anyone beyond listening and sharing my story.  Maybe something I have done or haven’t done will help, but I think the most helpful thing I can do is offer you encouragement. I think it is important to find something positive that you can do to help yourself and if the first thing doesn’t work, keep looking. Maybe my story is discouraging to you, then please look somewhere else until you find someone doing something healthy for themselves that maybe you can relate to.  I did not seek counseling, but that was probably a mistake.  There is no shame in doing so.  Reach out and keep reaching out.  It most certainly, will not be easy, but easy or not, you have to fight for what you want, for what matters to you.

This journey has been painful and it has sucked in every possible way, and some of my days have been dark and filled with much sadness, but I have been able to find ways to turn all that nastiness into a whole heck of a lot of good.  I have said it before, but I will say it again, I am calmer, happier, and more fulfilled than I have ever, ever been.  I am so sorry if I ever made it sound easy. It hasn’t been easy, but it has been worth the fight.

Last weekend at the training several of us were sitting around chitchating about random things.  Guns mostly.  One of the guys was saying that he likes to attend one training a year.  I jokingly said, me too.  Mr. Tea gave a chuckle and said, you have been shooting about a year and I think your on your 7th training. Slight exaggeration to make his point. I have not been to 7 formal courses, but I said, Yeah, I take training pretty serious.  His reply was, “I would say anyone who can turn a visit from the washing machine repairman into a exercise, takes training pretty serious”. True, true. Then someone asked me how many rounds I think I shoot in a year.

I had no idea, so when I got home I decided to try to figure it out.  I go to my local range about twice a week.  I shoot at least 150 rounds each time.  There have been weeks that I have missed, but not many.  I have also attended 4 formal training courses where I shot between 400-600 rounds plus the many times I have met informally with John at his range or other ranges around Virgina.  In addition, I have hooked up with other bloggers many times for an hour or so of lead therapy, so I decided for easy math I would just use the average weekly range trip of 300.  300×4=1200.  1200×6(you know, half a year)=7200.  That is very simple math, but I have recalculated that a million times, because that seems like kind of a big number. 

It is getting warmer and I have been doing a lot of experimenting with my clothes and my new gun.  I know a little more then I did a year ago when I did 7 Days Of Conceal Carry which turned into a bit of a mess, so I am going to restart that next week.  I think you will be pleasantly surprised at how easy it really is to conceal.  Warning…if you want to wear Daisey Duke shorts and a spaghetti strap shirt without a cover garment, get the Flashbang and call it good. 

In the spare 2 seconds I had yesterday(I volunteered at the kids school serving taco salad to the teachers, plus last minute errands for my daughter and then her Spring Chorus Concert…she won the solo and she ROCKED it!!) I popped over to Female and Armed, while I was there, I clicked on a link she had on her sidebar; Rounds and Roses.  The blog writer had an interesting post on getting women into shooting courses.

As you know I have been trained almost exclusively by men(The only exception is my course taught by the phenomenal Cornered Cat) and for me it worked. All the people that have come into my life have been the exact right people, but her points are well taken. I do think that many women are intimidated by men and shooting and as she points out, many women have had previous experiences that make learning from a man difficult.   I, of course, think that the entire world should learn from John, but that probably isn’t to realistic, so if your a women looking for encouragement her post is worth reading. 

I am now off for a run and then there is a slight chance I will get to meet with Arete later today, but if not, I might just snuggle up on my couch and try to finish up J.D’s Above Reproach. It is a good book and I hate putting it down, but I am so busy I have to sneak in a chapter here and a chapter there.  

When I very first started out on my journey, I didn’t know anyone who knew about guns.  I knew a lot of military people, but they were not gun folks and I had no idea where to go to find information.  I needed a holster for my first Conceal Carry For Self Defense Class, so I think I ended up going to Gander Mountain, but there was nothing for a lefty.  I am pretty sure it was there that the salesman told me about an upcoming gun show.  He suggested I try looking there for a holster.  It was at that gun show I met My Glock Guy. 

I actually call him My Glock Guy.  That is how he is listed in my contacts. He was really the very first Gunnie I ever met and he was the very first one that gave me a glimpse into the character of the people that make up this community. He is exactly who I am talking about in my Open Letter.

He is one of those individuals that says what he means and means what he says. He told me I could count on him to help me and he has never let me down.  As he helped me learn about my Glock, we developed a friendship.  He and his lovely gal have come to our house for dinner.   We send texts of silliness. I email him when I have a Glock issue.  He calls me when it’s midnight and he has had a bit too much jack and coke.  Those are fun!  For the most part our relationship has been light-hearted and carefree, but recently that changed.

About a month ago, he called me to tell me he had prostate cancer and it was bad. The cancer is pretty aggressive, so an aggressive form of action is required. In a few weeks he will be going into surgery and I am asking all of you to join me in sending him words of encouragement, good thoughts and if you are the praying kind, prayers, lots and lots of prayers.

When I am angry at someone, I call them an idiot.  It is my big what were you thinking word.

Yesterday, I was reading a post by 45er and it included a video. The video is of a robbery and it shows a woman being robbed, stabbed, then running away and leaving her child behind.  Idiot.

Some of you might think that is mighty harsh coming from a woman who essentially did the same thing.  You might assume that I would feel a kinship with her. That I could relate to whatever left wing crap was feed into her mind to bring her to that point.  That I would understand the bullshit of lie that was so convincing to her that not only did she think it was ok to leave her child in a vulnerable spot, she actually did it. You might say to yourself, talk about an idiot, have you looked in the mirror lately lady? 

The truth is, I do feel a kinship with her and I do wonder how she got so far away from her natural instinct to protect her child.  I do look in the mirror and I see her face staring back at me. I thought a lot about her last night and how gut wretchedly sick to her stomach she must be over the reality of her actions.  I want to find her and hold her and support her the way you all have supported me.  I have cried more tears for her then I have ever cried for myself, but, no matter how much I feel for her, for her child, the fact still remains she was an idiot.

Just to be clear,  I say idiot in reference to myself and my mistake too. My husband always takes offense to it.  He does not like when I say it, but I have never been much of a sugar coater and there is no point in pretending. I was an idiot.  It doesn’t matter if I was only doing what I knew, what I was conditioned to to do.  It doesn’t matter if this woman panicked because, she like me, didn’t know any better. True or not, it was stupid and pretending it was anything else is dangerous. 

There is a HUGE difference between self pity and truth.  I am speaking truth here. I speak it for one reason and one reason only, I don’t want anyone else to know this kind of truth.

Some of you reading this blog have not done all you need to do to protect yourself or your family.   You know there is something more you are suppose to be doing, but something is stopping you.  Maybe you are afraid or maybe you are pretending that bad things don’t happen all that often, I don’t know, but if you keep pretending, I fear you are in grave danger of becoming an idiot. 

My kids came home from school and I did their homework with them as I cooked dinner.  I made roasted chicken thighs, my husband’s favorite, and mock succotash. I was out of corn, but I added bacon and cream, so no one noticed.  We had a lovely dinner and then we put the kids to bed.  Well, all except E.  She needed to read a story for school and since my kids are required, by me, to read every night, she chose to do her school reading then.

She climbed into my bed and began reading.  She was reading very monotone.  She is, after all, deaf.  I said, wait, listen.  I read the way she was reading and then I read with pauses and inflection.  We have done this many times before, but it is an area she has struggled with. I asked her which sounded better.  Which sounded more interesting.  She thought my way did, so I said you try.  She said OK and began to read and by golly if she didn’t get it!  She sounded awesome!  I could hear the difference in her voice and so could she. The Marine and  I sat there listening to her and marveled at the progress this child has made.

Later on in the evening our 14 year old, M, came to us to talk about being a foreign exchange student somewhere.  We have talked about this pretty much every night for a month.  We told her she could enroll in the program her sophomore year. She wants to go this year.  She also wants to go to England.  We said no to England.  If we are paying that kind of money she is going to have to learn a different language and experience something far more unique than England.  She is determined to go to England so she brings it up daily, each time with a new perspective for us to think about.  We listen and then say Not. Gonna. Happen. But, last night she says, “What if I work for the money and pay for it myself?” Now, she has our attention.

My husband and I look at each other and I say to her, “If this is something that is that important to you, that you are willing to work for and pay for the trip, then yes, absolutely you may go to England.” She said, “Really?”  My husband replied, “Really.”  We just might be teaching her a thing or two.

Our 6 year old came off the bus all excited because he had lost his second tooth. He is the youngest and has been waiting and waiting to lose his first tooth and have the tooth fairy visit him.  He has now lost 2 in less than a weeks time.  Exciting! In our house the tooth fairy brings books and just in case, it is the fairy’s busy season, my husband ran out to the bookstore to get a few things.  While he was gone M said to me “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”  This is from a straight A student who adores school, so I asked why.  She told me she just didn’t feel like it, so, of course, I said, “You’re going.”  She said “You wanna fight?” “If I win, I can stay home?”

You all know I said, “Yes, lets go.”  I started tossing little hits her way.  When I say hits, I mean I am more than an arms length a way, not really near her and I am not even extending my arm.  Never touched her, plus we are laughing and chit chatting at the same time.  So, I am tossing my hits, all of which she deflects.  Eventually, I say, “At some point you have to stop being on the defense.” “You have to stop deflecting and start being on the offense.”  “You have to throw some punches yourself.”  She drops her hands to her side, looks at me sweetly and says, “I can’t.” “I just can’t.” I drop my hands too, wrap my arms around her and with tears streaming down my face say, “You know, I just want you to be safe?”  She says she knows.  I hold her for a little while longer when she says, “You know, I could knee you in the crotch right now?” I pulled her in a little a tighter, smile and say, “Yes and if you did, I would be so proud.” She giggles her cute teenage giggle, I kiss her on the check and she skips, literally, off to bed.

My husband came home from his errand and did the fairy thing then we went to bed.  We chitchatted about different things for an hour or so. After my husband turned off the light, I smiled again and thought, man I love these people.  I feel an overwhelming sense of joy.  I am so very, very blessed. Being with them is one of my most favorite places to be.

This weekend was my weekend to work at FPF Training.  There is another person who works for John; I work when he can’t.  This weekend’s class was the Conceal Carry For Self Defense.  This is a basic shooting course, but generally most of the people who take the class have had experience with shooting.  This was a special class. This class was full of first time and novice shooters.

We had 12 students in the class about half were women and 4 had never touched a gun before. Only 2 or 3 had their own guns and gear, everyone else used our equipment.

We had a husband and wife team.  I can’t remember if the wife had shot before, but her husband had never shot a pistol.  I believe he had shot a rifle or shotgun a couple of times.  They were a really fun couple.  They also brought along a friend.  Not sure about his background. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time with him, but he turned out to be quite a shooter.  In addition we had 2 females, they were friends, neither of whom had ever shot a gun before. I let one of them use my M&P for the weekend.  She and her husband(he is signed up for the next course) are serious about buying a gun for her and after talking with her and talking about what she is looking for, where she is at and her size etc, John decided that my gun was probably a good fit(I had told John he was welcome to borrow it way before he had talked with her, so he knew it was ok to make the offer).  Day one I carried John’s M&P .45…sweet!  Day two I carried my Glock.

We also had a Navy Commander.  He had some experience and was comfortable with guns. Nice, nice guy. We had a gentleman who has carried for about 3 years and has taken other classes, but he wanted some fine tuning.  Another gentleman that was in the Army and again, he knew his way around a gun, but I don’t believe he had a lot of experience with self defense type shooting.  He had a great sense of humor.  I really enjoyed chit chatting with him.  We had another husband and wife team. They are gun bloggers, but I will wait and see if they post about their training.  If they out themselves, I will link them here(edited…I got the go ahead for the link Country Tea And Bullets. Her and her husband Mr. Tea rock).  I have met and shot with the wife before, but it was the first time I had met the husband in real life.  What a treat.  Unbelievably kind folks.  They kept my hot water cold in their cooler and I can not tell you how much I appreciated that. They both have guns and carry them daily and they most certainly can shoot well.  I think they were looking for more intense training for self defense and that is why they took our course. ***Edited***As an aside, Mr. Tea read my blog first and in those beginning days offered me a lot of support and advice.  He then told his wife Country Tea about my blog and she sent me an email asking about carrying with one in the chamber.  We developed a friendship and started getting together to shoot from time to time. When they signed up for the class I wasn’t working for FPF Training  yet. I was tickled that I got to work the weekend they attended.  We made some fun memories and developed our friendship a bit more.

Finally, we had a family of 3.  A mom, a dad and their 17 year old daughter.  The mom and daughter had never touched a gun before.  Neat story.  Their friend bought the course for them.  He wanted them to be trained and he paid for all of them to attended.  Crazy cool.  The dad was a hoot.  I spent a lot of time down on their side of the line, so we bonded or at least I did.  The 17 year old was a powerhouse and took to shooting like a fish to water.  You all would have really enjoyed watching her develop.

It is strange how in the course of 2 days one can feel connected to 12 people she had never met before, but I do.  I loved them all.  Every single person there impacted me in someway.

I was deeply touched, in particular, by two of the women.  One woman, a brand new shooter, asked to talk to me.  We were in the part of the class where John is giving context to the training.  He shows videos and discusses the many issues surrounding self defense.  Anyway, watching those clips and listening to John, she was reminded of her own fresh experience and she was a little emotional. At the break, she shared a story(not a bad guy encounter, but a gun story) that had happened to her just a week or so earlier. I asked her if she had told John and she said , “Oh, no,  I haven’t told anyone.”  “Please don’t tell anyone.” I thought it was a great story of her personal fortitude and mental toughness and I thought it was a story that should be shared, but she was not ready to do so. I was blessed and humbled that she would share with me something so personal to her.  I do hope she decides to tell the story to more people, because it’s a great story.

The other lady was the mom of the 17 year old daughter.  Super lady.  I probably identified with her because for her own reasons(not from a bad guy encounter) she was not fond of guns or the damage they do.  She was very nervous and timid as she was shooting,  I tried to be a support to her without interfering with John.  By the end of the class her skills and confidence had grown tremendously, but, of course, I never thought I had any barring on that.  After the course she gave me a hug and told  me she felt better just having me there.  I was glad that my presence was a tiny bit of a comfort for her. 

No secret that I love to shoot.  That I love to be around guns and do gun things, but my life has always been and to this day, remains about relationships.  I care about people.  This job is amazing because I work for a man I respect and I get to fulfill my passion for all things firearms, but it is the people that show up weekend after weekend that make it worth it.  It’s cheesy.  It’s a cliche and it’s a 100% true. On the weekends I work, I get up at 4:30am and I don’t get home until about 7:30pm.  Your gonna have to take my word for it, but I am pretty much on the go and on my feet all of that time. This weekend I did not fire one shot, NOT ONE, but it might have been the best time I have ever spent on the range. The days are long, but the people make them short.  Being with them is one of my favorite places to be.

Outside of chit chatting with the folks, I did my usual stuff: cleaning gear, putting up targets, fetching things for John, taking pictures(when I remembered) and because there were a high number of new female shooters, I got to talk a lot about peeing with a gun on.  Much of my time working for FPF Training  revolves around peeing.  Who knew?  What is even more odd is that I actually enjoyed it. I know what you are thinking, “Really, that excites you?”  Why, yes, yes, it does.  I loved that these women felt comfortable enough to come ask me and I loved that I could help. 

It is quite an experience to see someone hold a gun and shoot it for the first time.  To see them nervous and shaky, but determined to take that first difficult step forward and to actually pull the trigger, it was like no other experience I have had. With each new shooter that took that step I had tears in my eyes.

Inspiring.

The first shot is inspiring, but it is the last shot, that very last one, that one is exciting.  This is true for each and every person who comes through the training. I love to watch their confidence grow and to see them improve upon whatever skills they have, be it none at all, or seasoned.  They all walk away with more tools than they had when they first arrived.  Witnessing immediate and tangible results is crazy cool.

I am thankful to everyone who came out and let me be a part of their lives for a weekend.  I was truly blessed.

P.S. I would like to point out that not only didn’t I cross my legs one time, I also noticed every single time someone else did and I was kind enough to point that out to them.  I am not entirely sure they appreciated it as much as I did, but  I like to share the love.  More good news. John name a move after me.  It is a move starting out with legs crossed and followed by a twist. It is used when addressing a threat from behind.  It is not as flattering as it sounds, though.  It is a move NOT to do and the honor comes with a fair amount of mocking.

Yesterday I went to Zercool’s blog where he had posted a comment from Sean, that Sean had left at Jigsaw’s Thoughts blog.

Of course, I popped on over to see what all the fuss was about.  Essentially someone who appears to be anti gun engaged in a conversation with Julie.  Nothing really new or earth shattering in his argument and Julie, of course, handled it brilliantly.  When I got to the comments, Sean said…

“The fact that you would demand that Jigsaw stand meekly and get hurt or killed rather than fight back makes you effectively a co-conspirator with the attacker”. 

I read that line and it was an ah-moment for me. I thought that is exactly what the defenders of criminals are; they are co-conspirators, but then they are in it for their own reasons and I am not sure I have any hope of effecting their thinking or their behavior, but as I thought about his statement, I thought, what about me?  What about you?

When, we refuse to take responsibility for our own safety, our own lives, when we sit back and find reason after reason to justify doing nothing, we are in effect co-conspirators with our attacker. Now, the main difference being that unlike many anti-gunners there is no malice in our actions.  Bad guys are bad and someone who doesn’t prepare for their own defense is not really culpable in that manner, but by doing nothing or very little, we are helping them.  A victim of a crime does not deserve the blame, but why make it any easy on these people?  Why help them to cause you harm?  


JD at Guns, Guns, and Gosh Darn More Guns has an interesting post up this morning.

The day before we left for North Carolina on vacation our washing machine broke. I have had way too many oh-crap-life moments to let something like this annoy me in the least, so I just said, whatever and went to plan B.  We didn’t have that much dirty laundry and there was a washing machine at the house we rented, so we just packed whatever was dirty and washed it when we arrived at the beach.  We did call the repairman right away though and set up service call for when we returned.  I will spare you the 3 week oh-crap-life momment is starting to piss me off saga and jump right to this morning.

The phone operator had scheduled the repairman to come to my house between 8am-12pm.  Of course, 100% of the time whenever a company schedules me for a time slot, the repair person shows up about 5 minutes after the latest time.   Since I know this, I was not concerned that 8am is the exact time I am running around getting my kids ready for school, but I should have been.

I woke up this morning and put my yoga like pants on and I had a little spaghetti strap top on. No gun, no cover garment.  Just me in my morning attire.  Let’s not tell any of the people who train me that my gun was not on me even though it has violently strongly been suggested, ad nauseum repeatedly that I wear it at all times.

I am in the kitchen packing snacks for the kiddos when my daughter says, “Hey, mom there is some guy at the door.”  She did not open the door she can just see him standing there. I look at sure enough there is a man at our door, it is the guy from Se@rs. 

I open the door, he hands me a card, says his name and I let him in.  He seems very nice.  I show him to the laundry room and he starts to work on the washer.  I was not at all concerned that my gun was not on me.  I was expecting him, he was driving a company van, he was wearing the company uniform, he handed me a card, his posture towards me was fine.  Not a big deal.  But then I started to think about all the stories I have heard and read about repairman not really being repairman.  I have read a lot about repairman who don’t commit crimes every time they make a call, but sometimes, some of them might engage in a crime of opportunity. I look at a him and think he seems nice, but he is rather larger.  I think I probably should put my gun on, but this is easier said than done.  My gun is in a place where if I went to grab it, the man could see me get it from the laundry room.  I have other guns upstairs, but my kids are waiting on the sitars for the bus, so I don’t want to call them up with me and I don’t want to leave them alone with him, so I am in a quandary.  What to do…

Also, am not wearing the right clothes.  Can’t just grab my gun and slide it on. I have to figure that out first.  Again, I am not really concerned about this, but I am half way thinking idiot, should have had my gun on and half way thinking this is good training.  Probably don’t need to get my gun on, but it’s a challenge and I want to finishing thinking how I can solve this dilemma.  I go into my downstairs closet and grab a jacket which I am sure seemed strange because it is like 80 degrees, but it was just a little windbreaker and not my huge winter jacket plus regardless I needed something for a cover garment.

The bus comes, I send the kids off and I go into my kitchen where I can see him clearly and where my gun is.  I do busy work and wait for a chance to get my gun.  He turns his back and I seize the opportunity.  Grab my gun, go into the next room, slide my Remora on, tuck my gun in there, tighten drawstrings on pants, fix jacket. Success! I am armed. 

Again, I had no reason to be concerned and I wasn’t.  I also know the gun is not a magic answer to whatever could possibly happen if the washer repairman decided to go all bad guy on me, but I feel more confident in my skills to handle bad guy situations with my gun than without it.

Fortunately, the third time is a charm, he fixed the washer!!! He is standing inside our laundry room which is small and with really bad lightening.  He asks me to come in there so he can show me the paperwork and have me sign a few things.  I decide that just for practice, I am not going to go in there.  Normally, if I don’t want to do something, but someone asks me to, I do it.  I was not worried about going in there, but I have done things before that I felt uncomfortable doing and I wanted to practice saying no, so I said, “Actually, would you mind coming out here and letting me look at those?”  He said, “Oh, sure the light is probably better for you in the kitchen”.  I said, “Yep, sure is, thank you.”

I read. I signed. He left.  All is well.

Erin over at Lurking Rhythmically is asking the blogging community to help a friend of hers and she asked me to help spread the word. This is an excerpt from her blog post…

This last piece is more of a request than an update. I have another friend, Miakoda, who lives in South Bend, Indiana. She’d like to know more about guns and how to shoot them, but she is very ignorant of how they work. I mean absolutely no disrespect here, but she literally did not know the difference between a semiauto and a revolver before she began speaking to me. I’ve tried to educate her as best I can, but it’s difficult to do over chat and she’d really benefit from some hands-on training by an actual instructor.

If there’s anyone in Indiana who is willing to take her to the range and give her some basic instruction for little to no cost, I would really really appreciate it, and I know she will too. Contact me — you know how to get in touch. 🙂 

If you can help or if you know of anyone who can help, please contact Erin.

I knew a person once we said to me “I know that if someone wanted to harm me, I could not protect my self or my children and I am fine with that.”  “If it is my time to go, it is my time to go.”  Of course she said that, but she didn’t really believe it, otherwise she wouldn’t take her child to the doctor or wear her seat belt or turn on the alarm in her house, but it’s what she tells herself because thinking about being mugged, raped or murdered is scary.  Thinking about your children being harmed is unimaginable and it is easier not to, until of course you have no other choice. Often what appears to be easy, turns out to be the hardest thing of all. I understand that mindset.  I was pretty much the poster child for that mindset.  When I get a comment like I did yesterday from anonymous I am not angry with him or her because I was him or her.  I told someone last night that this person who keeps posting anonymously, it feels personal to me.  I keep thinking it is someone who knows me. Someone who is close to me, but maybe it is just that I can so intimately identify with the thinking that I feel a connection to him or her.  I don’t know.

While, I understand the thinking, I also know how dangerous it is.  I can promise you sticking your head in the sand and crossing your fingers that the bad guy won’t kill you is not a good strategy.   Even if one is prepared to die, most are not prepared to live with the aftermath of survival.  Death sucks, but living comes with it’s own set of issues and in my case, not dying was when the real fight for my life began.

When you survive an attack, for most people there are all the usual feelings of fear, shame, embarrassment, and anger,  but for me I also felt completely demoralized and an enormous amount of guilt.

On that day I did not fight. I did not protect myself or my daughter. I know, I know, we have been through this a number of times and I am not feeling guilty today. This is not about that. This is about the cold hard facts that someone who isn’t willing to think about the consequences of not fighting needs to know.  It has been said  “You did everything you needed to because you are here and you are alive”, but that isn’t true.  I did nothing.  One of the things that the bad guy said to me when he was on top of me was, “We are going to get up from here and you are going to leave with me.” and I would have.  I know it without a doubt.  He knew we couldn’t stay in that parking lot, eventually someone would come along.  There is no way to know for sure what his intentions were when he first spotted me, but I have done a lot of reading on instinct and have learned that people do actually know more about a person and their intentions then we give ourselves credit for.  As I have replayed that day in my mind, I have come to believe that he was a bad guy and probably had committed many crimes before, but I also believe he just wanted a few bucks.  The way he approached me and the way things played out, I believe he became bolder and bolder the more compliant I was.  He went to take a little, I gave it without issue, so he went for a little more and a little more.  I don’t think his plan was to knock me on the ground and drag me out of there, but as I lied there with fear in my eyes, I think he thought, “She is weak”. “She will leave with me.” and he was right, I would have.  That is something to think about the next time you tell someone it might be easier to just give them what they want. I did nothing.  I did not fight because I thought it was the best way for me to survive. It wasn’t a choice.  I didn’t assess the situation and decide that not resisting was my best option for survival. I did nothing because not fighting had been so ingrained into the fibers of who I was that I did not even have the natural instinct to protect myself or my child. The cold hard truth is that, had those 2 cars not pulled up, this story would have more ugliness, that I am sure of. Not having the courage to face the possibility of an attack nearly cost my everything. It’s not about having a gun or not having a gun, it is about mindset.  My mind is what almost got me in bigger trouble that day.

After something tragic happens there are really only 2 choices: give into it or get over it.  Let it beat you with depression, alcohol, withdrawing, anger whatever, or move on.  Moving on might seem like the easier choice, but it is a hard and painful road.  Death is hard, but surviving is no cake walk.

In my determination to change my mindset and to find joy and happiness again, I lost much. I lost myself.  I lost parts of me that I had identified with for so long and parts I loved.  I lost several close friends that I had before the mugging.  The new me was not to their liking and even though they said they would always be there for me, when things got tough, they rather coldly and brutally walked out.  My children suffered and so did my marriage.  My family and friends needed to protect me and I needed them not to.

There are people who read this blog that have known me a long time and they can tell you that our family was the perfect white picket fence, annoyingly happy family that no one thinks exists.  Of course, we had ups and downs and hard times, but our foundation was solid.  Our kids are good caring people and my marriage had been the kind people dream of.  Twenty years with a man I have always adored and who has always cared for me and put me first.  I have my faults and he has his, but somehow we just fit.  I have always been able to be me and to get through life’s obstacles because my husband was by my side.  When my brother died, he was the rock.  He took care of everything as my father and I tried to get through the day.  When our daughter A came home from China and our family was reeling from the realities of what life had tossed her way, he made sure everything was taken care of, so I could focus solely on her.  He is kind and generous and strong and he has always been who I turned to, but this time I couldn’t.

There was no conscious thought process.  I did not decide I could not depend on him or others, I just did what I could to get through the days, move forward and not go crazy.  As I began to depend more on myself, my family and friends didn’t know where they fit in.  We are all protectors of each other, not really talkers.  We are all ‘suck-it” uppers.  If something bothers me for the most part I don’t say anything and that is the kind of people I surrounded myself with.  They knew I was hurting, so they didn’t say anything when their needs were not being met and I was too focused on myself and E to pay attention.  A huge chasm began to develop and those relationships suffered. By the time I was healthy enough to notice, most had already been destroyed.

My story has a happy ending.  My children are happy, healthy and carefree.  My marriage is more solid,  more connected and more pervy than every before.  The friendships I have been able to maintain are deeper and closer and the new ones I have made have added a richness to my life that I never experienced.  I meant it when I said I am the happiest I have ever been, but I would have preferred to have thought about these things prior to that day.  I would have preferred to have been prepared.  I would have preferred to have not lost so much.

Fighting for my life, for my family, for my marriage, was a painful, gut wrenching process and when I look back on the mindset that got me into the fight, it hardly seems worth the price I paid.