Paradigm Busters Reveal the Real You


PARADIGM BUSTERS
REVEAL THE REAL YOU



Marilyn L. Redmond

Mithra Publishing

Copyright 2016 by Marilyn Redmond

This book does not dispense medical advice nor endorse any technique for medical problems without
the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent this book is to offer information of a
general nature. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, you are prescribing
for yourself, which is your constitutional right, but the author and publisher assume no responsibility for
your actions.

No part of this book may be reproduced my any mechanical, photographic, electronic, or recording
process. Nor may this material be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for
public or private use other than for “fair use” without written permission of the publisher.

The examples of peoples or circumstances in this book are composites based on real conditions that
exemplify the points being described. They are fictional characters having the characteristics
representing the dynamics of the state of affairs. My stories however, are my own experience.

Paradigm Busters First Printing: 2016 Mithra Publishing

Poetry and Illustrations, Marilyn L. Redmond ©1999-2016

Publications by Marilyn L. Redmond

Books
Roses Have Thorns; Encouragement on Evolving from Pain to Joy –Poetry, Kaleidoscope Press, © 1999.
The Real Meaning of 2012, A New Paradigm for Bringing Heaven to Earth
Dreamtime Press, © 2014.

E-Books on Amazon.com
Vasanas, The Gifts That Show Us the Way
Incest, Love Heals the Soul
All Time Victim, Domestic Violence
Spiritual Alignment, Are You Ready for 2012
Peace on Earth, Finding Your New Life

Anthologies -Prose
The Book of Success, “New Glasses Bring Success”, ©2015.
http://mithrapublishing.com/product/the-book-of-success

Hidden Success, “Beyond the Barriers to Success,” ©2015.
http://mithrapublishing.com

Walking Your Life, “Wanted to Live”, ©2015, http://mithrapublishing.com/product/walking-your-life/

Grand-Stories, Ernie Wendell, Friendly Oaks Publications, pp. 60-61, ©2000

“Recovery,” Pygmalion, an anthology, John M. Daniel, Editor, ©1994.

Published Poetry Single and Anthologies

 “Peace At Last”, Poetry,” com 2012

http: //poetry.com/poems/149784?selected=reviews#comments

 “My-Gala-Celebration,” http://poetry.com/poems/145132

 “Harmony,” http: //poetry.com/poems /86120

 “The-Light-of-Truth,” http://poetry.com/poems/85867

 “VISION—A NEW ME,” Spiritually Speaking, ©2006.

 “Love,” First Word Bulletin, Spain ©1997.

 “Parade of Dreams,” First Word Bulletin, Spain, ©1997.

 “Forever Christmas,” First Word Bulletin, Spain ©1995.

 “Leaving Home,” Newscaper, Tacoma Writer Club, ©1994.

 When We Were Young: Childhood, A Community of Voices, poem, ©2000

 When We Were Young: Adulthood, A Community of Voices, poem, ©2000

 Hot Dog, A Community of Voices, art, Santa Barbara Writers, ©1999

 Winging It With Words, A Community of Voices, poem and art, Santa Barbara Writers ©1997

 Poetry-The Twenty-fourth Annual SFWC, ©1996

 Silence Captured Still, Tacoma Writers Club, ©1994

 “Love”, Our World’s Most Treasured Poems World of Poetry Press, ©1991

“A new approach for a New Age. This book contains a lifetime of wisdom and insight into the mind-
body-spirit connection of healing and wholeness. If you are trying to reach new levels of health or trying
to find your purpose in life, this book is a must read."

~ Dr. Kathleen Drake, Chiropractor

“Marilyn Redmond has spent her life bringing light and love from the realm of angels and spirit to this
world of ours. In this book she shares with us, some of her rich history as she helps us better understand
the beauty of our own Divine selves.”

~ Gladys Taylor McGarey, M.D., MD (H)

“Happiness is an inside job, which can never be reached with drugs! Following this wise advice could
save your life, and a great deal of suffering. HUGS, Norm.”

~ C. Norman Shealy, MD, PhD
President, Holos Institutes of Health
Professor Emeritus of Energy Medicine

President Emeritus
Holos University Graduate Seminary

“Are you ready to leave pain and suffering behind? Marilyn Redmond’s book is a must for anyone
interested in the relationship between spiritual, psychological, and medical healing. A true and inspiring
story of injury and the search for physical, mental, and spiritual healing. Working with her extensive
knowledge of the work of Edgar Cayce, Marilyn Redmond courageously delivers a paradigm-shifting
guide for spiritual, psychological and medical healing. Edgar would be made proud. Surely he is.

It's a life workbook. University earth. Redmond’s teachings and techniques for spiritual, psychological,
and medical healing speak to the higher purpose in life-the unlimited potential all of us have to
empower others and ourselves. “

~ Sidney and Nancy Kirkpatrick
Edgar Cayce an American Prophet, Author

Dedication

I dedicate this book, to the memory of Geneva Burgess, my first editor who worked with me to organize
my book and get past the obstacles. Her patience and genius were remarkable. She always was ready to
get back to work and had wonderful ways to put the pieces together. Her efforts and staying power
were a gift that I will always remember and cherish. She was talented and a gifted writer herself.

Thank you for your hours of perseverance as we struggled through, trying to make sense of my jumble. I
miss you and am forever grateful that you were here when this project really needed your guidance to
move it along. I am sorry you cannot see the results of your accomplishment in steering my book
towards completion.

Acknowledgements

Many people assisted me in the writing of this book. Thank you for all your support. My special thanks
to Sidney Kirpatrick who mentored me while I was rewriting my book, again. His wisdom and experience
were priceless. His time and help afforded me the ability to organize my book into the presentation that
it is in today.

Next, my angels, masters, and guides have been ever ready to help me in numerous ways. Their
assistance and connecting me with the contacts, material, and information I needed were awesome. The
book finally was completed after twenty-five years because they did not give up on me. I want to thank
you all.

In addition, I wish to acknowledge the following people for allowing me to include their work. I want to
recognize Andrew Scott Music, Helena Music Company, ASCAP for permission to use the lyrics to "The
Impossible Dream". Thank you to Claire Gardner, archivist at The Edgar Cayce Foundation, who kindly
helped provide assistance to include quotes from Edgar Cayce’s readings. In addition, Judith Skutch
Whitson, President, Foundation for Inner Peace, publisher of A Course in Miracles, graciously permitted
me to include quotes from A Course in Miracles.

In addition, I want to acknowledge that when I requested to use a quote by Matthew, the disciple
Matthew of the Bible, he asked if I would include a larger more complete statement about fear. Thanks
to Suzy Ward who channels Matthew for his special information. What an honor for that to happen.

I wish to acknowledge Mack Van Wyk for his patience when I needed to keep working on this project. He
never complained when I said that I still had to finish some work on the book. He always supports and
encourages my efforts.

Table of Contents

Preface ..............................................................................9
Introduction ....................................................................11
Prologue ..........................................................................14
Chapter One: My Story ...................................................16
Chapter Two: Honesty ....................................................52
Chapter Three: Hope.......................................................83
Chapter Four: More Hope.............................................158
Chapter Five: Faith ........................................................214
Chapter Six: Courage.....................................................251
Chapter Seven: Integrity ...............................................280
Chapter Eight: Willingness and Humility.......................346
Chapter Nine: Walking in Reality-Perseverance ...........388
Chapter Ten: Moving into Grace...................................433
Chapter Eleven: Holistic Health ....................................479
Chapter Twelve: Wholeness and Joy ............................524
Conclusion.....................................................................581
Epilogue.........................................................................586

Preface

Dear Reader,

If you are drawn to this book, then it is for you. I have known Marilyn Redmond for many years and have
watched her develop and explore and expand her consciousness more beautifully and consistently than
anyone in my life experience.

I have done many psychic readings of Marilyn Redmond and from doing that, I know that she carries
truth and beauty in her heart and that her writing for you is sincere and valid.

Because Marilyn channels much of her writing, it has a particular vibration that some will respond to and
others will not. This kind of material carries an energetic field that draws its own audience. Just as music
has a vibration that attracts some to jazz and others to blue grass...channeled books do the same.

As I said, above, if you are drawn to Marilyn's teaching, writing, or channelling, this is a pure example of
her particular energy pattern and it will fit you like a beautifully tailored suit. Marilyn Redmond is a
highly evolved and advanced soul. She does not write for the masses. She is too advanced for them.
Consider yourself special if this material speaks to you. You are in an extraordinary group of beings
who is evolving more quickly.

This book will be a durable and powerful strobe of light throughout many future generations. I predict it
will find its audience and speak perfectly to each of you, if you allow it to do its magic while working as
your soul's tuning fork.

I can fully admire and recommend Marilyn's writing because I know her heart, I know her ethics and I
know her integrity. I also know her brilliance, conscientiousness, and her ability to grasp the big picture
and put it into simple language. For all these reasons, I encourage any reader attracted to this book to
proceed full speed ahead. Marilyn Redmond will be an excellent guide to the shore you need to reach.
This book will articulate your path with purity and clear vision. You will not get lost.

I encourage you with all my heart to advance. Go forth in trust, joy and gratitude that you have found it.
I suspect that if it speaks to you, you will be able to adopt its message and integrate it into your life,
knowing there will be benefit for the good of all humankind. I gratefully thank you for following this
light.

With love, respect, and blessings,

Linda Schiller-Hanna
December 3, 2014

Clairvoyant and Author
Relieving the Burden of Self

INTRODUCTION

Embrace the mystery in the adventure of life!

Life on earth is a school for learning and growth. Are you ready to leave your pain and suffering behind?
My discovering answers, growing into understanding, comprehending the dynamics, and achieving good
health, happiness and wholeness evolved into Paradigm Busters, Reveal the Real You.

Overcoming childhood and marital abuse, physical illness, mental illness, and addictions is achievable,
through healing physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. These lessons are about my
relationship with the architect of the universe and me.

In the past, I was a victim. I always felt like a victim without ever knowing why. I even won an
international writing contest with an essay entitled, "All Time Victim." A traumatizing experience at the
age of forty-five forced my decision to live or die. My alternatives at that time were another suicide
attempt or stay in a relationship with my husband trying to kill me one more time. With the decision to
leave this painful position, I was able to uncover and recognize my own inner wisdom. I am an example
that sanity and healthiness are possible with truth and without any medication.

Paradigm Busters, Reveal the Real You addresses life, including medical and physical illness and disease
from a spiritual point of view ─ the way that is usually resisted. This book offers a sequence for a course
of action. Each chapter explains the next dynamic to continue growing. This program provides a
complete course for recognizing truth, reality, and reaching enlightenment in your life. It integrates
awareness and purposeful action for the journey of the soul.

Being clueless, hopeless, and helpless, in a fog of fear, obligation and guilt without direction, I knew I
needed help but I did not know how or where to get it. I was a teacher with three years of postgraduate
studies pursuing a PhD, but later realized that I only emotionally three years old without answers, barely
existed in an excessively thorny life. Because, I only knew at the time what I did not want, my concern
was to stop the abuse and battering and raise my two children in a healthy environment.

In confronting my inner demons through self-searching, meditation, and prayer, I found inner healing
and personal strength; I found God within. These practices guided me to understand the healing of love
and the right use of energy taught by the master Jesus. My unbearable history, which seemed a curse,
became a blessing.

Honest readers will uncover answers to restore wellbeing. Finding and understanding the obstacles to a
healthy life brings empowerment and wisdom, emerging from “victim to victor”. The song “On a clear
day, you can see forever,” becomes real. When you practice loving yourself, the more growth occurs
towards the real you.

I hope that my experience, understanding, and empathy will assist you as you read each chapter and
work through the exercises to further your spiritual evolution. You can find your divine essence. If I can
change “existing in hell” to thriving in “heaven on earth,” by living in Christ-consciousness, anyone can! I
hope that you too will accept the challenge to maturity by leaving your chrysalis and growing into an
incredible and beautiful butterfly, free in reality.
All my love,

Marilyn

The following quotes are the basis for this book:

“The Christ Consciousness…is the only source of healing
for a physical or mental body.”
~ Edgar Cayce # 60-4

“There are in truth no incurable conditions…”
~ Edgar Cayce #3744-2

“When the spiritual malady is overcome, we straighten out
mentally and physically.”
~ Alcoholics Anonymous

“If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature.”
~ II Corinthians 5:17

Prologue

As I am peering downward to planet earth, God asks me, " Do you really want to go down and help
those people that are unhappy and suffering?"

“I noticed the people needing help and I want to help them,” I reply naively. “I want to go there to help
them overcome their troubles and sickness.” I remember staring down on the earth and feeling great
pain and misery. I know the people need help. I cannot handle their overwhelming despair that I feel
and their illnesses that I can see. It saddens me to see such hurting.

"You cannot help them unless you also experience what they experience," God replies. “I know how to
help them. I won’t need to walk through those trials,” I retort.

"You will be on a different level of communication without going through similar problems. The
connection comes from having walked the same walk. When you walk through similar difficulties, you
can then talk on their level of experience. People will listen when they can relate to your experience and
your healing is evident. They will have hope because you have been there."

“Oh, I just want to help. I don’t need to go through those problems.”

"You are not going down unless you experience the illnesses and tribulations to understand the
dilemmas and their resolutions," God insists.

After several attempts to persuade Him that I did not need those lessons, my arm feels like it is twisted
behind my back, “Ouch, you are hurting me.” It seems strange in spirit, being without a physical body, to
feel as though I am being forced to say Uncle. I know I have no arm and I am not really being hurt, just
persuaded, firmly.

He presses me to make the decision. " Well, how sincere are you about going to assist others out of
their despair, and disease?"

“If I have to do it I guess I will.” I respond feeling as if I have no alternative to God’s strong influence. I
know about free will, still it is as if I have to choose what God wants for me.

There is no substitute for personal experience.
~ Joel L. Whitton, MD, PhD, Life Between Life

Chapter One: My Story

It took over 76 years to discover and unravel why I suffered from so many physical maladies along with
mental, spiritual, and emotional problems. I always felt like an orphan from the time of my birth. Feeling
alone and lonely, I never believed that I fit in anywhere.

This kind of unmanageable life is the direct result of fear, without the ability to overcome it. I was
running amuck from my fears and needed to change. Later in life realizing that I was creating my own
drama, I became willing to leave the drama behind. Finally, I understood I was my own worst enemy.

When I changed my attitude from one of fear and panic to loving myself and others I created a life filled
with caring people and positive experiences. This spiritual shift, from fear to love, drove me to find out
the truth about myself. This was the first day of a new life that I claim and enjoy today.

However, that change only came after a lifetime of mental, spiritual, and physical illness and emotional
devastation. I am sharing with you a condensed version of my story.

My grandmother, Alice Redding, was born in Everett, Washington, then a small town north of Seattle.
Muzzy, the name I called my grandmother, married my grandfather, a Canadian named Mr. Parker. My
grandparents moved to Canada where he had a clothing and general store. Mother and her five sisters
and two brothers were all born in Canada. Mother was born in North Battleford, Saskatchewan in 1917.
My grandfather eventually abandoned the family after the birth of their eighth and youngest child, a
daughter, Izola. Facing the Great Depression with a large family was a huge responsibility for anyone,
especially a single mother.

"How am I ever going to support my family without a husband?" She pondered as she and her children
rode the train from Saskatoon, Canada towards the United States. "When I get back home to Everett in
Washington, I will need to get a job. The garment factories pay by piecework. I should be able to get a
job in one of them. The hours will be long but I’m sure I can make enough to feed and dress the family.

My girls need supervision, especially after dark if I am not home. How can I protect them from harm
when I am not there? The boys will be no help; Willmar and Leonard are both planning to live on their
own when we get back to the states."

Muzzy was a petite dark haired woman that could easily have been blown away in a big storm, but she
was fiercely protective of her daughters. Working long hours at the sewing factory in Seattle,
Washington, she feared for their safety, especially without a man in the house. Repeatedly, she
preached to them to stay inside, not to open the door after dark and not to let strangers in at any time.
She also cautioned her daughters to stay away from all men and never let them in the house. This
instilled a deep fear of men within my mother. Later, while my grandmother had an operation and
recuperated, the girls were placed in different homes. During this time, my mother lived in an orphanage
for a year and a half. In addition, because of hard times my mother lived with relatives several times.
Attending 28 different schools destroyed any potential for a stable foundation my mother might have
found in her childhood.

Once, during a stay in the San Juan Islands, the relatives submerged my mother and her sisters in a rain
barrel and did not willingly let them up for air. When Muzzy heard about this, she brought them home
immediately.

During high school, Mom lived in Portland, Oregon with a cousin. However, the lack of money prevented
her graduation. Mom told me later, “I knew I needed to return to Seattle and get a job.” My mother’s
very real fear of not having enough money haunted her all of her life.

Trying to support herself, she became a live-in nanny with a family in Seattle. The father was the owner
of a very successful jewelery store in downtown Seattle. Mom later told me, “It bothered me that they
served the kids only starchy macaroni, but could pay for lavish meals for their society friends”. It was
during this time that my parents met at a ballroom in Seattle.

Early in the 1960’s, when encouraging my father to see the film, Dr. Zhivago, he shared a little of his
story. At twenty-two, I sat at a table with my father, husband, and baby daughter enjoying a seafood
dinner on the waterfront in Seattle. We listened intently to my father as he shared a piece of his past. It
was so intriguing that our baby girl was silent throughout his narrative.

“I left Russia like they did in the movie, The Sound of Music. I am not going to see a show about Russia,”
he told us, alluding to the Dr. Zhivago movie, I will tell you once how we escaped and never ask me
again,” he said adamantly.

“My father had already fled the country,” he told us. “The Czar paid for his trip, because my father was
one of his jewelers and he was shielding him from the coming revolution. My father came to America
where his name was shortened at Ellis Island from Markowhovich, to Markow because it was too long
for the form. He found a job in his jewelery trade to make enough money to provide for his needs while
saving every cent he could for the family to follow. He sent the money to my mother.

“She prepared the family to leave Kiev. There were six boys, including me, and two girls to escape
through a marshland at night time. It became a matter of life and death that we not make noise or
splash, walking through the marsh. Russian soldiers were guarding the area in small boats with guns.
When the craft was near, we submerged and used reeds for breathing.

“My youngest brother, Morrie, was not even walking yet. My mother held him tightly in her arms and
forced him to make no motion or sound to give us away. She sternly told us that if anyone stirred under
the water the soldiers would shoot us. I was only five years old and very scared.

“Fortunately, we made it through the marsh and walked through several towns to get to the boat. My
father met us when we arrived. The family moved from New York to Washington State because it
seemed like a better future for us. We moved into a house on Fir Street and when I was six, I began
selling newspapers on the streets of Seattle to help with the family finances. Though my father had
brought us to Seattle for a better life, he never lived with us again.” That was the only time he spoke to
me about leaving Russia.

Over the years, I learned more about my own father’s activities in bits and pieces. Jules, as everyone
called him, was a veteran of the First World War. Born in Russia in 1896, he became a proud citizen of
the United States at Fort Lewis, Washington before going off to fight in Europe in World War 1.

Sometime after the war, he lived in Canada for a short time, married and fathered a daughter. This
marriage did not last long, with Jules leaving his wife and child with the wife’s relatives in Winnipeg,
Canada. Then he tried selling cars in California for a while, but returned to his position in the King County
Assessor's Office on Jackson Street in Seattle. I overheard one of his fellow employees comment once,

“To the victor goes the spoils. His job usually changes with each newly elected assessor. It is amazing
how Jules has kept his job after every election for over thirty years. How does he keep them all happy?”

In addition, he loved being a successful entrepreneur for army reunions. “These letters from the
presidents of the United States and other dignitaries who I ask to speak at the reunions will become
valuable for you in the future,” he told me. He made scrap books of these events and loved the notoriety
and brief acquaintance with celebrities.

At this point in his life my father appeared to be a successful well-rounded man. My mother, Mary Alice
Parker, was an impressionable, flaming red haired twenty-year-old girl when she married my forty-year-
old father, Julius (Jules) Edward Markow. Their backgrounds brought together an incompatible mixture
for their marriage.

In the beginning, my father did not want any more children; my mother, not even knowing where babies
came from yet, wanted a child of her own. Instead of having a child, they bought a house. My mother
however, was more stubborn about having a child and eventually talked my father into it.

After great difficulty, I was finally conceived much to my mother’s delight. In due course, I managed to
become my father’s little princess and my mother’s little doll. However, being a member of this family
was not fun and I never felt safe. The neighbors next door became my godparents. The White’s seemed
like a nice couple. They watched me when mom needed to leave. During these times, he molested me. I
really was not safe.

As a baby, my mother would put me on the floor on all fours but I would stay there frozen by her chair; I
was too scared to scrawl away from her and venture out like a normal child. Though I did not have a
name for it, my mother’s fear from her abusive life had been instilled in me from the womb along with
my own early abuse.

From my earliest memories, my parent’s fights were my nightly lullaby. "The door’s shut but I can hear
every sound under the covers," I thought. "The neighbors must be hearing every word too, with the
windows open." Our houses were only a few feet apart. " I wish they would stop fighting." As a three
year old, I did not have the words, but I tried never to think about it and would pretend it never
happened. This pretence extended throughout many years. Denial of reality ran my life.

Until the age of three, it was just loud voices and screaming through the walls. Then, one evening I saw
the fight instead of just hearing it. Mom accidentally left the door open to my room that night and I saw
my father beat my mother in our tiny bathroom. My mother screaming, “I have no money to buy
groceries. The cupboards are bare.”

My father hollering back, “I’m not giving you any more money, I already gave you some,” all the while
hitting her with a hair brush. It felt like he was beating me too. I pulled the sheet over my head, and
hid. I thought, "If he can’t see me he can’t hurt me."

It was then I began tightening my muscles like violin strings. I somehow thought I could become so
small that he would not find and hit me, too. This muscular strain continued throughout my life,
eventually evolving into serious Fibromyalgia and arthritis. (See my book, “Roses Have Thorns”, poem
entitled, Turtle)

Instinctively, I somehow knew there was a God. I did not know where it came from but somewhere
inside of me a voice said, "God, please take me off the face of the earth." I prayed with the deepest
sincerity that I could muster at the age of three. Unwittingly, I was setting myself up for suicidal
tendencies later in life with this prayer. This inner voice went on, "If I have enough money, I will make
it." These prayers innocently and unknowingly created an unhealthy link of money to survival.

This inner voice was obviously not the voice of a three year old, but nonetheless that is what I heard and
felt. This inner voice spoke to me again at crucial times over the years. Because at that age I could not
physically run away, I moved into an emotional turtle shell for protection and safety staying there until
several years ago at the age of 66. Finally, I felt safe to be vulnerable out in the real world. However, I
still had glass walls to protect me from harm.

At the age of three, even though I began dancing and performing on the stage of the Moore Theater in
downtown Seattle, I never felt pretty or that I belonged. My father, though very stingy with the grocery
money, supported his little princess in her dancing and performing. There were private as well as class
lessons for ballet, tap, acrobatics, and baton twirling. I did not know it at the time; some of these
lessons were paid out of my mother’s household money.

After washing my hair, Mom would roll it with rags to make long blonde curls. I was to look like Shirley
Temple. Then I went off to dance classes and recitals to perform; I enjoyed it, but still felt unattractive
and like an outsider. As do many performers, I got my relief and escaped my ugly reality through
dancing.

Mom made colorful costumes for my solo tap and ballet dances and outfits for other dancers in my
classes. She applied makeup for the performances in the cold, bare cement dressing rooms back stage. I
was another JonBenét Ramsey; my mother lived through me. I was her doll and I was always dressed up
for dancing, school, and church. If we were having company, she put me on the couch like a decoration,
dressed in a new pinafore with my shiny black Mary Jane shoes. It was unspoken, but I knew I was to be
seen and not heard.

During this time, the neighborhood kids took turns having a circus show in their backyards. “Marilyn, I
want you to have the next circus in your back yard,” Gloria told me. “I love the costumes your mother
makes you. You have the prettiest clothes. I wish my mother would sew for me, too.” Gloria lived in my
neighborhood and we played together. She had decided to use my yard and I would be the main
attraction. I dutifully followed along and we had several circuses in my backyard.

Another friend, Alan, lived across the street. For each of our production shows, he helped with popcorn,
stringing ropes to hang sheets, and other projects like a Kool-Aid stand. Alan was not just part of the
gang he was a true friend. In the winter, we collected stamps, coins, played board games, rode bikes
around Greenlake and roller-skated in my basement. We even dressed up in my mom’s old clothes after
school. It never crossed my mind that other boys would not treat me as nice as he did. I liked Alan and
always felt comfortable around him.

All of us neighborhood kids went swimming in Greenlake, rode bikes around the neighborhood and up
to Woodland Park, played hand ball in the street and “hide and seek”, and walked to the library. I even
joined the neighborhood Bluebird group and started taking piano lessons. All of these events occurred
during the daytime when my father was not home. It was like living a double life and somehow I did not
feel I fit in with the others because I could not forget the experiences of my terrifying nights.

Having a quiet minute to myself was rare. One sunny day lying next to my favorite apricot tree, the
billowy clouds filled the sky above me as I gazed up and enjoyed their shapes. "This is really neat", I
thought. Mom put her head out the window and called, “If you have nothing to do, I can find something
for you.” My one spare moment was shattered and Mom made sure I was always busy after that.

I learned that being busy quieted my thoughts and feelings about my reality. I pretended everything was
fine so you would not guess that my house was a house full of hostility and violence leaving me feeling
empty, neglected, and abandoned. My parents’ total focus on their brutal bond precluded having any
deep relationship with me. They were concerned mainly with each other and their dysfunctional
relationship.

In spite of my lessons, costumes, and performances my first day in kindergarten was a very traumatic
experience for me. Up until this time, my mother had always been around even if it was in the
background. When mom left me there I dropped my head on the little table feeling deserted and I cried.
There was no one to talk to about these emotions, I already knew. However, I successfully managed to
subdue my feelings of abandonment, until I was deposited on the steps of my college dorm. These
feelings came flooding back and overwhelmed me again. I know now that I was in shock both times. I
lived my life in shock.

I had never met my half-sister from Canada though I did know about her. Victoria was twelve years
older than I was. Vickie came to live with us at the time I started kindergarten. She was to finish her
final year of high school in the states.

After high school graduation, Vickie went to work at Boeing Airplane Company. It was there she met
Reginald Wright, an ex-Seabee from the Second World War. After dating just a short time, they became
engaged. The engagement party was a fun time at our home, everyone singing by the piano to the new
Cole Porter song, Night and Day.

I wanted to be part of the only time there was laughter in our house. “Mom, I want to stay up and have
fun, too.” I begged.

“This is an adult party,” she informed me. Sadly, I went to bed longing to be in on the fun.

My soon to be brother-in-law, Reggie, crept into my room later that evening during the celebration. He
held me and touched me in places I knew he shouldn’t. Even though I sensed it was wrong I liked the
attention. Being out of my body had become such a habit during my parents’ conflicts, it was like I was
there but I wasn’t.

Vickie’s marriage became an abusive, battering, and alcoholic disaster. It was a mirror to my parents’
marriage and my coming future. Once my parents and I drove up to her house just in time to see Reggie
throw her out the door and lock it behind her. She stood there beating on the door and yelling, “Reggie,
open this door and let me in.” My mother told her to go next door and call the police, while I stood there
in shock after witnessing the battle. It was just a different version of my parent’s fights.

One of the few nights I stayed with Reggie and Vickie, I was terrified that Reggie would come into the
bedroom like the night of the engagement party. When I finally dozed off, I woke up almost
immediately, screaming in sheer terror, thinking he was there in the room. Hearing my cries, Vickie came
running and I lied to her saying, “I’m afraid you will lose another baby.” She had miscarried previously

and was pregnant again. It was the only acceptable excuse I could think of for my outburst. Accepting
my explanation, she held me and calmed me down.

During this period, the situation with Reggie weighed heavily on my mind. I did not know what to do
about it. For one of the few times in my life, I tried talking to Mom. She was so closed down we never
talked about anything so this was unusual. I barely got the words, “I am upset” out of my mouth and
she snapped back at me, “Don’t feel that way”. I quit feeling any emotions from then on. I was always
extra careful after that to be so good that nothing else bad would happen to me. I knew my mother was
not available to help me in any way.

In the afternoons when Mom came to the PTA meetings and strolled by me playing at recess, I
pretended I did not know her and kept right on jumping Double Dutch without missing a beat. I was
mortified and filled with fear that someone would find out about the unspeakable nightly beatings at my
home.

“Your father will not give me enough money to run the house and buy groceries, so I have had to find a
job. I will be working at a bank on the other side of Greenlake. So no more dancing lessons,” Mom told
me.

The disappointment from this announcement was crushing; dancing was the only place I felt good and
safe. In addition, we lost touch with the two mothers and their daughters from dancing classes. I looked
forward to seeing Gina, Nancy, and their mothers for lunches many afternoons at their pleasant homes.
They were my special friends. Though I participated in all their activities, I felt left out of the
neighborhood gang unless they wanted another backyard circus.

Then, Mom decided, “Since I will be at work, I need to find a piano teacher to come to the house.” I had
already had two teachers in the first two years of lessons. This would make three in three years. It was
frustrating to start over, again. She never asked me what kind of lessons I wanted; when I asked for art
supplies, she responded, “We can’t afford them”.

I found out my father drank because well-meaning friends always kept Mom informed. “I saw Jules
drinking up at the tavern on Aurora Avenue again,” I heard someone tell her. These kinds of remarks
were common. My father never drank at home. However, he used eucalyptus oil 'to clear his sinuses' so
that was the smell I associated with him and never noticed the alcohol.

Though Dad came home most nights, he rarely stayed there. Many nights when he came home, already
having had a few drinks, if he did not like the dinner my mother had prepared, he’d picked a fight and
would find a nearby restaurant. When he did eat dinner at home, he would pick a fight later and then go
off to a nearby tavern or walk around the neighborhood to cool off. In later years, my father did stop
drinking and became a generous, devoted grandfather. I better understood his drinking, when I got into
therapy myself in later years.

Mom and I had been going to the nearest church from the time I was old enough to walk there with her.
With newfound independence, provided by her job, my mother talked to our minister about getting a
divorce. I overheard our minister tell Mom, “Alice I believe that in your circumstances divorce would be
acceptable.” Our church, Missouri Synod Lutheran, did not believe in divorce at that time; Mom was
able to carry through and separate from my father.

My parents’ divorce took place when I was eight years old. My father never said “good-bye”. I simply
noticed his absence and was told, “He doesn’t live here anymore.” I had many questions, but by then I
knew better than to ask them, because no one ever talked about what was happening. Never having
answers for my questions, I began to read voraciously, looking to quench my insatiable thirst for help.

Those next years with Mom were the best two years we had with each other. There were no fights or
disagreements and we had some fun together. To help expenses she rented out rooms to other young
women who worked at the bank with her. One woman had a little girl who I played with. In addition,
Mom found some nice, lifelong friends in the other bank employees. One of our renters started going to
church with us and married the assistant minister. They remained lifetime friends.

One day my Mother announced, “I found a flute teacher, Mr. Wing, who will come to the house. You
cannot be in the band and orchestra if you play the piano, but you can carry a flute in a parade.” I now
started playing in the school orchestra. " I like playing the flute and piccolo, but wish I still took piano," I
thought to myself. Mom made sure I was in Girls Scouts, Camp Fire Girls, bands and orchestras, and the
church youth groups. But I thought, " I do not feel a part of any group. Why am I the outsider wherever
I go? Why don’t I fit in anywhere?"

Being a Redding was of great importance to my mother; Redding’s Beach was named for her family. “I
don’t want to go to the Pioneer Picnic,” I told her. Every year I was dragged to Vashon Island with her on
the ferryboat, like it was a pilgrimage. Her family were pioneers on the island. This picnic was a very
important time to her. We saw all the relatives and always had strawberry short cake. For me it was the
most boring place to be because there were no other kids my age. The women sat around and got
caught up on all the gossip while the men drank and told their tall tales. However, Grandpa Redding
always drank too much and became belligerent and unruly, which bothered me because it reminded me
of home.

Then Mom sent me to Camp Sealth when I was in Camp Fire Girls. The camp was on Vashon Island. My
group of campers took a canoe trip overnight and stayed at Redding’s Beach by my Uncle Howard’s
home. I felt a little pride at being a Redding on that trip, but I never had a good time at camp, because I
could not make friends easily. However, Mom made sure camp was my summer experience because it
included being on Vashon Island, the homestead of the Redding family.

Mom met my step-dad, at a dance at the Trianon Ballroom in Seattle. I was looking forward to a father
because mine had not been around since the divorce. They married when I was ten. My father had
allowed Mom and me to remain in our residence at Greenlake in Seattle until Mom remarried. Then
they sold the house and divided the assets. Therefore, a new dwelling was needed when Mom married.
They built a lovely place with a daylight basement north of Seattle in Lake City, but it barely
compensated for leaving the neighborhood kids and school friends I finally had by the fifth grade. After
living in the same neighborhood for ten years, I felt like I was at last accepted. I hated moving for my
sixth grade; I would be the outsider again, the ugly duckling, the one who did not fit.

My mother's experience with my father extended into her second marriage to another batterer. Again it
was an incompatible mixture with addictions and dysfunction. My step dad’s mother was a very bitter
woman who never recovered from losing her favorite son, Lyle, in the Second World War. In addition,
she was very cruel and unkind to Mom and me and told me, “I will never accept you as a granddaughter,
because you are not of my blood.” She did not want her son to marry at all, especially a divorced woman
with a child. "Once again, I am the outsider," I felt condemned.

One of the highlights from the marriage was her husband. He played his violin while I accompanied him
on the piano, but he died shortly after my Mom married. However, he was the first kind man in my life
and I truly missed him.

It was not long into the marriage before my step dad showed his true colors. On Christmas night, the
first year, he gave me some instructions for chores at home the next day. I opened my mouth to ask him
a totally unrelated question and he slapped me on my face before I had a chance to ask the question.
“Never talk back to your elders,” he said clueing me in. From then on, I was afraid to speak up to him
about anything.

He came into my room one Saturday morning with a pitcher of water with ice cubes. He pulled back the
covers, “You are getting up to do your chores and no sleeping in.” With no warning, he poured the icy
water over me leaving me soaking wet. I was the first wet t-shirt girl back in the 50’s and he got his
jollies.

The rules were: chores done before lunch; needless to say I got up and the chores were done before
lunch. In reality, the chores on Saturday were never done because they always kept finding one more
things for me to do. By the end of the day, there was no time for fun or rest. My plan that morning had
been to sleep in just once; I was exhausted from a full week of school, homework, with several band and
orchestra evening rehearsals.

I was always careful to do what I was instructed so I would not get hurt because one time he came into
my bedroom with a 2 x 4 longer than he was tall. He ordered me to stand on my bed with my hands
against the wall. He swung his unwieldy weapon several times. As he hit my backside, I screamed, “What
did I do wrong?” I never did find out what I did to deserve this treatment, but once again, he got his
jollies. “I am only doing this because I love you,” he screamed.

During the next four years, especially after Grandpa died, his mother ruled the roost. When she called,
he immediately dropped all plans and answered her summons. All three of us had to go because that
was expected when Grandma called. My mother was sometimes furious that all their plans had to be
cancelled for this attention-seeker. The only bright spot in this situation was the peanut butter fudge I
knew I would find in the candy dish at her house.

At this time, my mother’s second marriage began to mirror the first one. My step dad had an angry
temper just like my father. He went for neighborhood walks to cool down just like my father. Though I
never saw him hit her until after I was married, from what I heard I think he did. I did see the hole in the
wall of their bedroom after one fight. I knew his temper could be violent.

Mom wanted another child and Grandma wanted a granddaughter. Because mom was usually sick, she
could not get pregnant. Then several years later when she seemed healthier, the announcement was
made. Mom was expecting. My prayers from loneliness were answered at the age of fourteen when my
half-sister was born. She became the family delight. I already knew I was extra baggage from Mom’s
marriage because his mother told me so. Nevertheless, by the next year she told me, “I will only be nice
to my granddaughter; she is my family." What’s wrong with me? What have I done for her to be so mean
to me? Once again, I feel like "I’m not good enough to belong. Will I ever be good enough?" I thought.

Following my half sister’s birth, Mom was in bed most of the time, tormented with one affliction or
another, both mental and physical. After her second marriage, Mom had begun suffering chronic

illnesses. I began my career as Cinderella, cleaning the house, changing diapers, cooking meals, even
cleaning out the fireplace ashes.