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Heart-Steps Therapy 1
Rosalie, My Memoir

Me

Preface: It Must Be Written
Never did I relent, as I battled deep within myself to turn my misery into time well spent.
On a logical level I understand what happened but I just don’t know how to explain it to my heart.

Love and savage, love and savage, go together with my heart you ravages.

Home was a nightmare.

My Husband's Recreation of Abuse & His Childhood Foundation Carved in Stone

Did I believe my husband's view of me?

I needed to identify if I was abused.

The Divorce

My dreaded path of no return into my world of depravity and degradation.
Romeo and Juliet
But then… in a heart-stopping moment I realized that had committed the most unforgivable sin.
I did not protect my children from their father.

I am a survivor!

I became a therapist.
My Mission Statement


Heart-Steps Therapy Book

will help you to identify and understand about abuse and the unavoidable consequences. I have shared my story as an example of the many types of abuse. Through reading my story and this therapy you will learn to love yourself by repairing your damaged sense of self and distorted belief system of what you believe to be true about yourself and the world. It also will help you to repair your maladaptive coping skills and behavior patterns. You are never, ever alone. Heart-Steps Therapy Book

Contact Me: please send me an Email: thepsycheworkshop@gmail.com and write “TPW” in the subject area.


Heart-Steps Therapy 2
About Me: My Professional Life

HST 2 About Me: My Professional Life
Heart-Steps Therapy 3
The Human Condition & The Creation of Memories: Our Subconscious Minds

HST 3 The Human Condition & The Creation of Memories:  Our Subconscious Minds
Heart-Steps Therapy 4
Self Therapy

HST 4 Self Therapy
Heart-Steps Therapy 5
Emotional Intimacy Therapy

HST 5 Emotional Intimacy Therapy

Heart-Steps Therapy 6
Sexual Intimacy Therapy

HST 6 Sexual Intimacy Therapy

Heart-Steps Therapy 7
Graphic Tales

HST 7 Graphic Tales

Heart-Steps Therapy 8
Your Story

HST 8 Your Story



Me



Preface:
It Must Be Written

Once I knew in my heart that I had to write this book, the problem arose of how I would write it. I struggled for a long time because I didn’t really want to share the truth of me and my life. I just had to keep my secrets. I prayed all the time to God, asking for guidance, His answer was always the same, which was an overwhelming ‘It Must Be Written’. I believe that everything that happens does happen for a reason. I believe that God has a plan for each of us and maybe this happened to me so that I could help others. Maybe I could use my voice to speak for those who can’t.

Never did I relent, as I battled deep within myself to turn my misery into time well spent.

It took me a very long time to write and rewrite this book. I resisted, self-sabotaged and self-destructed as I kept switching around paragraphs and rewriting and redoing and redoing. When I first started to write this book, remembering what my life had been like, I experienced many gruesome moments. Some days were so unbearable that I just had to walk away from my desk because of the depth and intensity of my emotions as I felt I was again ripped apart. I also experienced resistance in the form of severe headaches and overwhelming fatigue while reliving my abuse and coming face to face with my truth. On one hand, this resistance interfered because it stopped my writing and I so wanted to accept the temptation to abandon this book. However, on the other hand, it became a staunch motivator for me to continue my writing.

On a logical level I understand what happened but I just don’t know how to explain it to my heart.

My mom told me when she was pregnant with me that she had to stay in bed and the doctors at times wanted to terminate her pregnancy because they feared for her life, but my mom and dad refused. When I was born, the doctors called me ‘the miracle baby’ because they didn’t think I would survive birth and if I did, they didn’t think I would be normal. Well, my family and I laugh about the ‘normal’ part and it’s still up for debate!


Love and savage, love and savage, go together with my heart you ravaged.

My husband and I went to the same junior high. After graduation we went to different high schools and so then the only time I saw him was when my then boyfriend at the time, drove by his house as they were friends. Then after graduation, this one night I went out with one of my girlfriends and ran into him at a bar. We dated for a while and fell so much in love. He then had enlisted in the military and would be shipped off to Viet Nam but we wanted to get married right away. As we planned our wedding there were obstacles. His parents were against the marriage because as per the European custom, they had picked out the girl they wanted him to marry. We were married on that Sunday at a beautiful ceremony and reception with my family and friends. My husband’s family did not come even though they were invited. Throughout all this planning, my family was very concerned. Up until the day of our wedding, my mom said that she thought these obstacles were red flags and that it meant we shouldn’t marry but we were so much in love and so we just couldn’t see it and so we were married. But within a short time I would see who he really was.

Home was a nightmare.

My husband spoke with such conviction as he wore that arrogant smart-ass smirk on his stone-cold face that I was so familiar with. He was a heartless and inhumane tyrant, tormenting and torturing me or anyone who had the misfortune to be in his line of fire. He was always angry at something that was said or something that was not said. I never knew what he wanted from me. He was argumentative, belligerent, combative and confrontational, especially when I did not abide by his rules. He was cruel and callous, relentless as he would push me up against the wall and make promises of vicious threats of violence: threats of murder and dismemberment when I would least expect it. He was a bully and a tyrant and always liked to see me cower, using my fear of violence against me. He would degrade, demean and belittle me as he was critical and disapproving always giving me a negative appraisal and evaluation. He also liked to humiliate me by embarrassing me in public. After a time, I tried not to worry if he was mad because I came to realize that even if he was not mad at this minute, he could be the next minute because he was always in a bad mood and filled with anger and rage that I had witnessed many times in his temper tantrums and outbursts and fits of fury. Something that was okay yesterday might not be okay today. I never knew the difference until afterwards when he would bang, slam and throw things as he called me names. I learned to speak in whispers, ever so afraid, because at any time a storm could be brewing. I learned to be silent at dinnertime; because I knew all too well that if my husband became angry he would pick up the platters of food and throw them against the wall. Whenever I entered a room that he was in, there was always the dilemma of not knowing if I should look at him or talk to him, even to say hi.

My husband would always make me apologize because he blamed me for everything that ever went wrong and everything I said. Whenever I had something to say to him it was always hard for me to get the words out, because I was afraid. I would sit there and try to breathe as I would pep talk myself, such as by thinking okay say it now, right now, just open your mouth and say it. My stomach would be in a knot. My hands would be trembling and sweaty. Even my eyes seemed like they were not functioning right. Finally, when I would speak, after saying just a few words, he would glare at me and yell at me to shut up.

My husband day-in and day-out always laughed at me when he said, “These children and your family do not love you!” He sneered. “I’m the only one who will ever love you and you just don’t realize how lucky you are! There were times when he would hold me so close to him with his arms wrapped so lovingly around me, so much so that I could feel his heart beating. Just as I would feel safe and begin to melt into him he would roughly grab me by the arms and shove me back against the wall. He had a look of contempt and disgust in his eyes as he said, as always, “After all who could possibly love someone like you who is a whore and only good for sex because you are so worthless!” His words cut through me like a knife.

My husband’s behavior was always viciously intentional. He was slow and calculating, deliberate and raw as he violently executed his assault on my heart, mind and soul, with his bare words. I bled without end from these wounds which mostly would not heal. This magician of sorts, my husband, relentlessly beckoned me and though his voice was no more than a whisper, his words exploded over and over again in my mind and sliced my heart into slivers. I pushed myself so fast in the hope that I could outrun my terror of him and his symbolic sword of Damocles (impending doom). Alas it was all in vain as it had been already carved into my destiny. I was scattered, shattered and petrified, lost within the darkest darkness. I sought refuge, a haven within the imperishable heart, soul and mind of me but there was no such place. Nowhere could I hide though I frantically tried to find my way out. Then, after a time, I did not seek the door of refuge anymore. I felt hopeless and helpless as I searched inside myself for signs of life and hope, but found instead only the void of me, the abyss of me. And so, I stood before my husband wearing the costume of the day as I had done countless times before for years so long, too long. And time and time again, I did not even recognize me anymore as I was lost in his masquerade and I feared, I just knew, that I had misplaced the clothes that I am. I was barely able stand myself because there was no denying who I really was as I transformed from me to his view of me.


During those times when I was in so much emotional pain I sought out anything and everything to relieve that pain. I was sightless as my behavior created sins which were morbid, grotesque and unforgivable as my choices were not good, not good at all because they were based on my feelings of desperateness which clouded my every thought. And then, when in clarity, I suffered more pain as each of my bad decisions came back to haunt me. I was barely able to stand myself because there was no denying who I really was. There were days I desperately struggled to put myself back together again, but most days I just did not want to disturb my falling apart.

My Husband's Recreation of Abuse & His Childhood Foundation Carved in Stone

Children learn what they live and then they live what they have learned.

My dad, aunts, uncles and paternal grandmother were physically and verbally abused by my grandfather. Then one day when my oldest uncle was an adult, he put my grandfather up against to the wall and threatened him which made him finally stop his abuse. As adults, my dad, aunts, uncles with the exception of one never abused anyone. My dad was the most loving father anyone could ever have. My dad made that conscious or subconscious effort to not recreate abuse. He was a survivor. My mom, dad, sisters and brother have always loved me, no matter what. I remember my mom telling me that I would cry and be hysterical if she was out of sight so I had to sit on her lap even when she needed to use the bathroom! If my siblings and I didn’t listen to my mom, she would just tap very lightly on our arms. Oh but when grandma came over we cried as if we had been beaten. My grandma had the solution to everything. First she would yell at mom and then she would take out the extra virgin olive oil and rub it on our arms. Mostly I remember how my mom, dad, sisters and brother always loved me. My family and I have always been very close and I will remember and forever cherish and remember every year. My family has always been so kind and caring and so good to me. They taught me about love and life. They were always there for me, especially when I needed help, even before I knew I did. My family always supported me even when they had doubts about my decisions. They have always listened to my countless hours of crying and complaining and stood by my side, even when I didn’t take what came to be their good advice. “I love you” are the words spoken most often within my family. This is a tradition of love that has been handed down for generations, especially when parting, whether on the telephone or in person. And then there are my children. Their love for me has been ever strong even during those horrible years plagued with tears and sorrow. I have saved and cherished the drawings and writings they made for me when they were in elementary school. I still look at them and smile, loving them more now than before. Their love is a very important part in my healing and a vital part of my recovery. And now I also have my grandchildren’s love. I have been truly blessed. Yes, I am loved.

My ex-husband told me about his childhood as he cried so hard. He told me that he was abused by both of his parents from when he was child. He always felt alone, deserted emotionally and deprived of love, affection, warmth and tenderness and believed he was worthless. He was threatened and intimidated and suffered bodily harm when he was beaten with car parts and anything else within reach. When I looked into his eyes I forgave him for all of his unkind words as I saw his pain and sadness. And then in that heartbeat, I embraced him for what I thought would be an eternity. I wrapped my arms around him and promised that I would always love him, always. My love was only for him, always for him. I thought my love could take away his sadness which was as the blackness of graves. I thought my love for him would destroy his pain which was cast upon him years ago, for years too long. Yes, he was like a wounded puppy to me who I was going to save. Yes, I thought my love for him would heal his wounds. But, I did not realize at the time that because his parents abused him on a day-to-day basis, they primed him to recreate abuse. I did not realize that there were already consequences he had suffered, was suffering and would still suffer in his life. I did not realize there would be consequences in my life and the lives of our children. I came to realize that my wounded puppy was actually as a rabid dog. My ex-husband recreated abuse with me because he was abused as a child. He did not know what love was and what it meant to be loved and give love. And for me and my children, we have never and would never ever be abusive. My ex-husband did not make that conscious or subconscious effort to not recreate abuse. He is still a victim.


Did I believe my husband's views of me? 

I did. I believed my ex-husband was the truth, my truth. I did believe him as he carved more tears deep into my weary soul, even though he knew that he had already made me weep throughout time. I came to believe without any doubt that what I saw in his eyes was really me! This was me! This was really me! I was worthless! I was a whore! And I was only good for sex! This was the unraveling of me.


I needed to identify if I was abused.

So was I abused? And if yes, was it really that bad?  I asked myself this question and was concerned if my recollections and feelings were accurate. I came to realize that what I didn’t remember by fact, I remembered by impressions. I realized that what my heart, mind and soul perceived what happened was the truth. So, the next time I asked myself if it was abuse and if it was really that bad, I responded with a resounding yes! It was abuse! It was really that bad!

Abuse damaged my sense of self. This damage then created distorted feelings and belief systems of what I believed to be true about myself and the world. This damage then created in me maladaptive coping mechanisms and behavior patterns along with intimacy issues.


The Divorce

I just couldn’t go on like this even one more day. I could no longer endure this drama, my own real life tragedy play one scene at a time, one tear at a time. I thought about those times when I looked forward to when my husband was not home. It was then and only then that life would begin. His abuse intensified in its fierceness as the minutes ticked into hours, growing into days and weeks and months and years. As the years passed, I realized that he would not change, except to be more abusive. And so then, in moments of desperation I prayed that he would leave. And when that did not happen, I prayed that he would die. And when that did not happen, I prayed that I would die. And when that did not happen, I cried and cried and cried. And then as I wiped away my tears I made an appointment with a divorce attorney.


My dreaded path of no return into my world of depravity and degradation.

I would come to know that even after the divorce from my husband happiness would not be mine yet. So yes, though I divorced him I still continued to wear the mask of dreaded time, living the masquerade, becoming whatever the costume of the day called for, as I had done countless times before but now I lived my own self-prophecy, a much worse prophecy than his being pale in comparison. Indeed he taught me well.

Romeo and Juliet

The thing was that I did not see the real person who was before me. For so long, for too long, I thought that our love was like a modern version of Romeo and Juliet, but without the poison, or so I thought. I really, really thought. Finally, after four separations I was strong enough to divorce my husband. I remember so clearly that night he was finally moving out. He was upstairs packing his things as I was pacing downstairs. I thought my heart would just jump out of my chest as it pumped furiously. Every now and then I stood at the bottom of the stairs to see if my ex-husband was coming. What was taking him so long? I felt as if I couldn’t breathe anymore. Then finally he came down the stairs slowly and was dragging his bags, having them bang on the steps. As he started to walk out the door, he faced me and told me that I was nothing but a whore and a slut! He then turned and walked out of the house. I quickly closed the door after him, locking it, on that longed-awaited and longed-for night. I sat at the kitchen table and let out the biggest sigh of relief. I thought about our life together. Oh sure, there were good times, but they were so far and few between, it was hard for me to remember them. But when I did, they would be replaced without delay with mournful images that lingered in my mind of the malady of abuse that he had set forth in my life.

But then… in a heart-stopping moment I realized that had committed the most unforgivable sin.
I did not protect my children from their father.

I always did everything I could to take care of my children even if I had to beg, borrow and steal, do despicable things and even if I had to walk on hot coals, even if I had to crawl through feces. But then… in a heart-stopping moment I realized that I had committed the most unforgivable sin. I did not protect my children from their father. I committed the most unforgivable sin. I thought because I always fought with my ex-husband for my children whenever he was abusive, it was enough but it wasn’t because his words were already out of his mouth ripping life apart. Forever and always I will experience overwhelming disgrace along with guilt, regret and remorse and a sickening sense of me because the truth is that the longer I stayed with my ex-husband, the longer the abuse went on. I knew that my ex-husband made a mess of my children’s lives but so did I. I have tried to make so many excuses for myself, but even I don’t believe them. I just cannot and will not cut myself any slack even as I have tried to console myself by saying I didn’t know it was abuse and that it would cause everlasting damage. I really didn’t know I swear! Back then, the word and the meaning of abuse was not a thought. People would say that my ex-husband and men like him weren’t treating their wives and children right or words to that effect. So I tried to assure myself that the pain I caused my children by staying with my ex-husband maybe was not so bad because my worst ever sin was unintentional. I have feelings of a deep sense of sadness and sorrow along with feelings of depression, pessimism, despair, devastation and dismay. It’s very hard, and gets harder with each passing year for me to understand how my deep and everlasting love for my children did not act as a wakeup call to save them. My children have told me that there is no need to apologize to them but I will always feel there is. I am so blessed that my children love me. I know I need to forgive myself even as I relentlessly blame myself and hate myself for the worst thing I have ever done in my life. There are broken hearts that just cannot heal and this is mine deservedly so.



I am a survivor! 

So yes I was abused. And though abuse damaged my sense of self and then created distorted feelings and belief systems of what I believed to be true about myself and the world and then created in me maladaptive coping mechanisms and behavior patterns along with intimacy issues, I have been in healing and in recovery. I am not a victim anymore. I am made up yesterday’s despair, today's hope and tomorrow's dreams, with mere shreds of myself that have refused to surrender and have refused to die. I am a survivor!


I became a therapist.

I wish I could remember that moment of clarity, that moment I finally understood that something was terribly wrong with me and my life because I was abused by my ex-husband. But there wasn’t just one moment as I realized it was a series of many moments. It was as if falling down a well and then little by little reaching the top. And once I did that I wanted to use my heart, soul and mind to embrace those who are or have suffered abuse. I wanted to use my voice to speak for those who couldn’t for so many reasons. So I studied to become a therapist. 

This is therapy specifically for people who are suffering or have suffered abuse.  Please make a commitment to begin this therapy and continue for as long as it takes because it can help you more than you can imagine. You may have to repeat it and that’s okay.

My patients suffered consequences of their damaged sense of self and distorted feelings and a belief system of what they believed to be true about themselves and the world and then this created maladaptive coping skills and behavior patterns and then emotional and sexual intimacy problems. Through my studies and internships with psychologists, social workers and numerous mental health professionals, I opened my own practice and started to treat my own patients. I soon came to realize that my training was incomplete evident in the fact that there were times I was unable to help someone. So I aggressively researched and then more times than not, I was able to identify the root cause during my patient’s first session. In fact, psychologists and social workers consulted with me and referred their patients to me.

I then created my blueprint for my Heart-Steps Therapy. This therapy helps to repair your damaged my sense of self; your distorted feelings and belief systems of what you believe to be true about yourself and the world. This therapy also repairs damage of your maladaptive coping mechanisms and behavior patterns along with intimacy issues.

During the time of my practice, I saw my patients, wrote articles which were published, did radio interviews, lectured a few times at a hospital and had speaking engagements at libraries. Predominantly my patients were men who had been abused. At that time my sessions were in person.

My Mission Statement


My captivation with the mind, together with my humanitarian nature, my varied professional training and experiences, my therapy talents, and through my past and ongoing extensive research and studies, has guided me on a journey in which I am blessed in that I am able to help people. In addition, through my personal past, I have learned to turn my misery into time well spent. Helping others has always been where my heart is and my lifelong desire, both personally and professionally. My goal is to continue on this path.







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Home
The Psyche Workshop

Abuse and Consequences
The Psyche Workshop

My captivation with the mind, together with my humanitarian nature, my varied professional training and experiences, my therapy talents, and through my past and ongoing extensive research and studies, has guided me on a journey in which I am blessed in that I am able to help people. In addition, through my personal past, I have learned to turn my misery into time well spent. Helping others has always been where my heart is and my lifelong desire, both personally and professionally. My goal is to continue on this path.

Bless the Abused
Bless the Abused


Bless the Abused Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/blesstheabused/

Real stories of abuse.
Awareness and support.
You can tell your own story without using your name.
Tears of My Family
Tears of My Family

Fact or Fiction is about my son, Joseph and my rendition of how the protect and serve aspect of the law is not law after all..
Brothers Forever Together is about the loss of my nephews, Steven and Matthew.
"Cremate me and throw my ashes down the sewer" is about the loss of my brother Joseph.

The Sad Truth about Elder Care

The Sad Truth about Elder Care

In February 2008 my mom became sick. Well my research left me in a fatal state of dismay and disgust. This is my research study about Nursing Homes / Rehabilitation Facilities.





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