Interesting Indeed...

I must first say that clearly...very cleary, I am no blog writer as I rarely, ya know, write on my blog. For those that might actually be following...please forgive my tardiness. Last we left I had donned a Michael Kors Swimsuit, hooter girl pantyhose, LARGE earrings, and glittery five inch platform shoes and gone to battle in an attempt to win the Mrs. Indiana title. I had armed myself with the armor of my platform and marched out on that stage knowing for sure, like really sure, that I would not win. I've always been a late bloomer and this includes my foray into the world of community service. I had tried at times to be involved in organizations, like Big Sisters of America for example. I probably owe the two young ladies I was a Big Sister to an apology because it just wasn't a fit for me. But I've never really been able to pinpoint how I could give back or get involved on a level that made sense to me. Lucky for me, just about a month before I decided to run for Mrs. Indiana I found Chaucie's Place. I loved the platform, the staff, the programs, love it all even the white picket fence out front covered in tiny hand prints.

I began volunteering for their Smart Steps Program. I also began to think more about how I could message my own experience as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. This is where the armor comes in because it was/is harder than I expected. I'm ok with saying the words "I'm a survivor of childhood sexual abuse" I'm ok with talking about the empowerment that saying SURVIVOR and NOT victim brings to my life and how I want to show others the magic of that empowerment. I'm not ok with telling my story. I've not yet told my story. I've told very few details to very few people. My armor has always been in place, always. I chose it when I was a young girl as I smiled through the pain of knowing in some way, though not fully, that I had become a commodity. My armor was my smile, when I wanted to frown. My armor was the outward confidence I displayed, when in private I felt disgusted with myself. My armor was silence when I should have spoken. Yes, I used some of this armor while competing in the pageant. I did not speak when "that one girl" stole my hair style and my bobby pins. I did display confidence even when I felt less than. But...I have other armor. My other armor is, pushing myself through uncomfortable situations so I can grow. My other armor is being amused and even somewhat flattered when someone "steals" my hairstyle (I mean, its not like I INVENTED the side swept look). My other armor is speaking when others don't in the hopes of making them feel welcomed and worthy. My armor has protected me, and freed me...just as any good armor should. I went into my volunteer journey with Chaucie's Place with no intention of talking about me. I never talked about my story but was honest that I had a personal experience that lead me to this type of service. Something interesting has started happening. I've been invited to share my story. By a church group, by a storytelling workshop at Chaucie's Place, a few others. They don't know my story, they just know I have one. I am going to tell my story next week at a place I feel safe, and valued, and understood...Chaucie's Place. But I'm nervous, God help me, I'm nervous. I don't know why. I guess maybe because I'll feel exposed when I remove some of that armor. But I have to believe it will be replaced with some of that "other" armor which allows me to grow. After all, why have armor that no longer serves you?