Articles from November 2010

Hope of Future Healing and Moving On from the Abuse

I’ve been reading through an article on the long-term effects of bullying, and the most recent comments posted by readers sharing their own stories.  I noticed a common theme of bullying victims becoming very quiet and having trouble trusting, making friends, and the like.  These things sound very familiar.

Some of them have moved on from childhood abuse and some are posting about recent abuse which they are still struggling with.

But disturbing is that some still hold anger, rage and bitterness decades–even 50 years–after the bullying occurred.  It has turned them into shells of themselves, and they still wish evil things to happen to the bullies.

I, too, can recall at least one time when I bullied somebody–not that I meant to, but the words came out cruel and made me into a bully–and times when I said things that came out totally wrong.

In some cases it was a friend who stayed a friend, and the mistakes have long since been forgotten.

But the time I bullied a person, I remember what I said, what I really meant but how it came out instead, and how she reacted, and I often wish I could find her and apologize.  But I don’t even remember her name.

I’ve also discovered that some of my own bullies from school, people who meant to pick on me, and did it over and over, have since–whether at reunions or on Facebook–found me and befriended me, sometimes even apologizing for what happened back then.  They are truly nice people now, from what I can tell online.

So while I haven’t forgotten that I was bullied, and at times it still bothers me, I have forgiven at least most of the bullies, many of whom are now nameless and faceless in my memory.

I realize that even if we have forgotten each other, they probably have matured and regret what they did or said all those years ago.

(The same applies to most of the bullies in my College Memoirs, by the way.  People still act stupid in college.)

I really wish the commenters on that bullying article would do the same.  At this point, they are the ones still suffering from their anger and resentment, not the long-ago bullies.

I have a healthy marriage and a child, and held down the jobs I needed before becoming a stay-at-home mother.  The first job I lost because of large-scale downsizing.  The second, I held for four years before resigning because of my coming baby.

But the commenters who won’t let go, they’re still stuck, often not having healthy relationships or even jobs.

Knowing that I have been able to move on since other cases of bullying and abuse, tells me that I can eventually move on from this latest Tracy/Richard episode as well, even though it has been very traumatizing in its depths of betrayal, gaslighting and bullying.

For it is not an enemy [Tracy] who reproaches me, 
Then I could bear it; 
Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me, 
Then I could hide myself from him. 
But it is you, a man my equal, 
My companion and my familiar friend [Richard]; 
We who had sweet fellowship together 
Walked in the house of God in the throng.  
Psalm 55:12-14, NASB

A song from Klank, a Christian band that is raw and real and doesn’t bother with happy Christian conventions in songwriting or music, such as the pat-answer/ ending of how Jesus will help me through:

You don’t know what it is to be me 
I was lied to and flat out deceived 
Said you cared, but was never there 
You left me to drown in my despair 
You gave me your word that you’d 
Always be my true friend 
Now that you’re gone, I can go on with 
My life again 
I cared for you and called you my friend 
Shared my life with you and let you in 
Then you dissed me 
Started spreading lies 
Even to my face you still deny 
You gave me your word that you’d 
Always be my true friend 
Now that you’re gone, I can go on with 
My life again 
I still feel it 
Inside, false pride 
Outside, you lied 
You don’t know what it is to be me 
I was lied to and flat out deceived 
One more time 
Twist the knife in my back 
I don’t need no friends like that 
You gave me your word that you’d 
Always be my true friend 
Now that you’re gone I can go on with 
My life again  
–Klank, Deceived 

Story of another spiritual mentor who caused great grief (showing that I’m not the only one this has ever happened to)

Table of Contents 

1. Introduction

2. We share a house 

3. Tracy’s abuse turns on me 

4. More details about Tracy’s abuse of her husband and children 

5. My frustrations mount 

6. Sexual Harassment from some of Richard’s friends

7. Without warning or explanation, tensions build

8. The Incident

9. The fallout; a second chance?

10. Grief 

11. Struggle to regain normalcy

12. Musings on how Christians should treat each other

13. Conclusion 

13b. Thinking of celebrating the first anniversary

14. Updates on Richard’s Criminal Charges 

Sequel to this Story: Fighting the Darkness: Journey from Despair to Healing


Jane Eyre Review–Part 3


Part 1
Part 2

I love how Brontë describes Jane’s feelings so well, so masterfully.  We see how Jane goes from finding Mr. Rochester ugly, to a deep, passionate attachment.

We see it’s because he starts treating her as a friend, seeking her out, and she believes she sees something more in his eyes.

When she discovers she may have a rival, Blanche Ingram (merely based on the fact that a beautiful and accomplished young upper-class woman is in his circle of acquaintances), we also see how she forces herself to stop thinking her plain and lower-class self can possibly make him think anything for her other than friendship.

Sure she’s gained in health, ruddiness and weight since she came to Thornfield, which is much healthier than the institution she left, and her appearance has improved.  Sure men do occasionally fall for their secretaries/maids/etc. (though Jane doesn’t actually think of this).

But she believes her feelings for him are impertinent and must be squashed.  It doesn’t work, but when she hears news of him coming back to Thornfield, she tells herself there are other reasons why her hand is trembling and her face is flushed.  Brontë has (had) a gift for describing a woman’s inner thoughts.

Mr. Rochester invites over a bunch of local upper-class people for a few weeks.  He pays attention to Blanche Ingram, as if he intends to marry her.  (In the miniseries, she’s played by the first Romana, Mary Tamm, who’s perfect for the part.)  [Update 5/18/14: RIP Romana.  🙁  ]

Now that Jane has encountered Blanche, and been forced (by Mr. Rochester) to stay in the drawing room every night as his guests assemble after dinner, she knows that Blanche is haughty and arrogant.

Blanche is proud of the ways she tormented her governesses; her mother speaks of governesses with contempt; she’s horrible to Rochester’s sweet little French daughter; Mr. Rochester sees it all.

Jane can see that he has no passion for Blanche, yet he seems to intend to marry her anyway, for family or political reasons, as upper-class marriages often were in those days.  The very thought burns her inside with what isn’t quite jealousy, she writes.

It reminded me of an ex-boyfriend who had to choose between me and a girl he didn’t love, but initially chose the girl he didn’t love.  I knew I held his heart, and a few weeks later he finally decided to follow his heart.

But until then, I had to endure him calling some other girl he didn’t love his “girlfriend,” and him telling me that people with no passion for each other who were “just friends” could be successfully married.

So I know how Jane is feeling.  I also understand her saying that if he had loved Blanche, she would have felt far differently about his marrying her, than she did knowing he did not.

If my ex had loved the other girl, I would have understood his choosing her.  But he loved me and only saw her as a friend.  So my heart burned then just as Jane’s is burning now.  The book has become far more real to me than it was in my inexperienced teens.

Even though Jane Eyre is a little Quakerish woman who refuses to do anything she perceives as “inappropriate,” and the social mores of the time would prevent a respectable English novel from being explicit, the middle part of the book has a strange erotic flavor to it.

It’s hard to put my finger on exactly why, but Brontë describes Jane and Mr. Rochester’s emotions and expressions so minutely and completely that the air flashes with sexual tension.

When Mr. Rochester confesses that he loves Jane and not Blanche Ingram (though he gave blatant hints here and there that only Jane could miss), and they no longer pretend with each other, the tension increases.

The housekeeper is surprised, and warns Jane to be wary of her master wanting to marry his governess.  She doubts his real intentions.  But she had noticed that he treated Jane as a “pet.”

I especially love that term right there, treated as a pet.  It seems to fit, with the way he loved to tease her for being an imp and a fairy, while she teased him back, refusing to mince words for the sake of politeness or his position as her employer.

When he gives her money for travel to her aunt’s deathbed, he fears she’ll stay away too long, and tries to take it back.  She keeps it from him, rather than surrendering it like a dutiful servant.  They had such a close relationship that she felt comfortable asserting her rights and teasing him.

This also reminds me of one of my former bosses, whom I would tease one moment, and the next insist that he pay my wages (since he was often late with them).

Then when they go from master/servant to engaged, Jane teases him even more, taking the housekeeper’s advice and keeping him at a distance until the wedding day.  It stirs him into a passionate fury, but she can tell he enjoys it.

It’s enough to make me wonder if Brontë had some other romance in her life that no one ever knew about, since she writes like someone who has experienced it.  Yet at this time of her life, the closest thing to “romance” anyone knows about is her unrequited love for Prof. Heger.

However, the devastation she feels, when on her wedding day she learns that Rochester is married to a madwoman in the attic, is probably taken from Brontë’s realization that Prof. Heger never felt anything for her.

The next part of the book is a sweet little bit that got cut out of the Orson Welles movie: when she finds out about Mr. Rochester’s mad wife, and runs away to avoid becoming his mistress instead of his legal wife.

After several days of desperate need, thanks to a parcel of money etc. forgotten on the coach, she finally comes upon a little house with a few caring souls who take her in.  She gets along quite well with the two young sisters, and their brother, St. John, is a blond Apollo and a Calvinist preacher.

He gives Jane a job as a charity schoolteacher.  She soon becomes his confidant when she discovers his secret love for a local heiress, who returns it, and whose father would bless the union.  But he has made up his mind that he is to be a missionary to India, and this beautiful but weak girl would never last in harsh climates.

Jane discovers that she has inherited a small fortune–and that these three new friends are her first cousins.  At long last, she has a loving family.  But then St. John decides she must become his wife and help him be a missionary to India.

St. John is strict and passionately Calvinist, unlike Jane, and he believes that he KNOWS God’s will for Jane.  And that will is that Jane MUST go to India and MUST marry him (to avoid scandal, not for love), or else she will burn in hellfire forever.

The exchange between Jane and St. John reminds me very much of an Evangelical church we once attended.  This church began to teach that everyone should go on missions, even though not everyone felt the desire or ability to go.  In the same way, St. John wonders why not everyone around him burns to go into missions.

Jane replies that not everyone has his powers, and it would be foolish for the weak to march with the strong.  He says that when the right people are found for the job, they must be stirred up; Jane asks, wouldn’t their own hearts tell them first?

But St. John takes it upon himself to speak for her heart, and badgers her into submission.  For every objection, he’s already prepared an answer, making it impossible for Jane to be “right.”

Jane very nearly gives in, when the voice of Mr. Rochester is supernaturally transmitted to her across the ether, as if to show that even God disagrees with St. John’s concept of Jane’s destiny.  It’s as if Brontë wants to show that Calvinists don’t have it all figured out, after all.

In fact, a strong antipathy to Calvinism runs through the whole book, from the abuses of Mr. Brocklehurst, who insists on unhealthy conditions for the girls of the Lowood charity school, for the “good of their souls”; to the unloving austerity of Eliza; to St. John’s fiercely moral and ambitious (but not loving) character.  Helen is the opposite of this, with her loving ways and universalist beliefs.

Even Mr. Rochester’s wild ways seem more desirable to Jane than the strict rules and predestination of the Calvinists around her.  In the end, it is Rochester she runs to, and she finds God and salvation are both there with him.

For a more complete treatment of this topic, see Rochester vs. St. John Rivers: or Why Jane Eyre Preferred a Cynical Sinner to a Religious Zealot by Peter Bolt.

Amazing how the book has new levels of meaning for me as time goes on.

[December 2009]


Jane Eyre Review–Part 2

Part 1

I have noticed an odd tendency in old British books to print lines of French, but not translate them.  The writers seemed to assume the reader would understand.  I wonder if French was just a common part of English education in those days, as expected as reading and arithmetic, since France was just across the Channel….

In the miniseries, I was struck by the acting of Dalton and Clarke: When they first conversed in the parlor, they seemed so stilted as if they were acting badly, with no feeling or passion for the characters.

But as the miniseries progressed, their familiarity and comfort with each other increased–showing that first conversation was deliberately acted that way.

It showed two people first getting to know each other, not at all comfortable with each other yet.  Later on, their comfort increases along with their regard for each other.

It’s very familiar to me, since I often feel the same way on first meeting someone, very shy and quiet, but if we hit it off, I feel much more comfortable in their presence.  Even if I already “met” this person online, the first meeting is usually like this.  So this part of the miniseries certainly rings true.

Since the miniseries is one medium and the book another, the scene can’t be quite the same in both.  But the book still shows an abruptness and unease in the way they talk with each other:

Mr. Rochester blames Jane for the fall that twisted his ankle, as if she were a fairy who put the ice on the roadway and bewitched his horse.  He asks her questions, but it’s more grilling than getting-to-know-you.  She’s not afraid of him, as she would be if he were polite and refined, something she’s not used to.

He’s impressed by  her portfolio, which has several watercolors which are not at all your typical Victorian schoolgirl landscape: They’re surreal, with brooding supernatural beings.

I can’t help but wonder if the very thing that made Mr. Rochester upset at her–his idea that she is a fairy who bewitched his horse–is what finally attracts him to her.

Since the pretty drawing room flowers–that is, the rich women in the neighborhood–could hardly compete with a mysterious fairy who somehow survived eight years in a charity school.

The descriptions of Mr. Rochester fit Orson Welles much better than Timothy Dalton: middle height, broad chested, dark face, stern features, heavy brow, about 40, granite-hewn features, gloomy but with eyes “not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.”

Of course, Brontë probably had in mind either her brother (a wild and brooding young man) or the great (unrequited) love of her life, the married Professor Heger.

Heger was (from the accounts I’ve read) a stern man himself, given to fits of pique, but an excellent, attentive and caring teacher–Though after you stopped being his student, he apparently forgot about you, which troubled Charlotte Brontë to no end.

It seems she mistook his care for his favorite student as something else.  She didn’t understand why he lost interest in her after she left Brussels for home, and rarely responded to her letters, certainly with no fondness or indulgence.

Her disappointment seems to have followed her throughout the rest of her short life: She kept re-making the whole story in various ways in her three novels, turning the Professor’s sweet wife into spiteful old women, and turning the Professor into unmarried characters who fell for her Mary Sues (Jane Eyre, Lucy Snowe).

Pictures of Prof. Heger–though he hardly fits the word “ugly” often used for Mr. Rochester: Here and here.

Mr. Rochester finds Jane fascinating because she’s not subservient or artful, but rather tells it like it is.  When he asks if she finds him handsome, instead of coming up with some polite evasion, she simply says, “No, sir.”  He also tells her,

Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances’ secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to talk of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves;

they will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations.

As a quiet person myself, I know this is true-to-life.

Part 3