Yoli's Write To Sanity

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Parenting Both Sides of Sibling Sexual Abuse

Parenting Both Sides of Sibling Sexual Abuse

A Message From The Hummingbird

I am the mom on both sides of a complicated story. Loving one child who was sexually abused and loving the one who caused the harm.

There is no road map for navigating something like this. No clean language. No version of the path forward that does not cost something deep and painful. Some days it feels like my entire role is simply to remain standing when I feel like falling and to stay present when everything in me wants to hide. Functioning while absorbing this kind of shock is a challenge in itself.

And yet, here I am. Learning how to love without chasing, how to hold boundaries without disappearing. How to remain myself even when relationships have changed form in ways I would have never imagined.

Lately, I have been thinking about the hummingbird.

A hummingbird migrates thousands of miles relative to its size. It burns enormous energy simply to stay alive. Even hovering in place takes constant effort. It does not rest the way other birds do. It must keep moving its wings just to remain where it is.

That feels familiar.

As parents and humans navigating trauma, we expend energy just to stay standing and emotionally present. We hover. We show up. We pay attention even when everything in us wants to give up. We absorb pain and strain quietly and keep going. Like the hummingbird, we need nourishment, spiritual and emotional, because the work of staying present is exhausting.

The hummingbird symbolizes resilience after hardship. It represents the return of joy and lightness, not because things become easy, but because survival itself requires strength. It reminds us that connection does not require possession, love does not require obligation, and presence does not require control.

We can love deeply and still protect ourselves. We can hold grief and hope at the same time. We can remain connected without losing who we are, and we can stay in place without collapsing.

If you are hovering right now, barely holding yourself together, that is worth remembering! Your quiet strength counts! The energy you put into staying present matters!

Even in the most challenging seasons, strength can exist. You are not failing, you are surviving. And sometimes that is the bravest thing any of us can do.

When Doing the Right Thing Still Makes You Feel Like the Villain

When Doing the Right Thing Still Makes You Feel Like the Villain

A story about family, guilt, and the cost of choosing someone’s peace and safety

This year, I set a boundary with my parents.

We didn’t go to their house for Thanksgiving. We had it at ours instead. That might sound small to someone outside the situation, but it wasn’t. It carried years of pain, silence, and choices that should never have been mine to carry.

It wasn’t even about me this time. It was about my daughter.

There’s a story I’m not going into here, but I’ll say this much. My daughter was violated by a family member, their grandson, my son. He’s in prison now for what he did to her. But my parents still choose to stay in contact with him.

She was the one who said she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to sit in a place that still protects the person who hurt her. And I decided to support her, choose her, and stand on her side.

It was the right thing. I know that. But it didn’t stop the fallout.

My mom didn’t speak to me for a whole week. My dad turned on the guilt, the blame, and the disappointment. Like I was the one punishing them. All I did was protect my daughter from the people who made her feel betrayed.

And still, I spiraled. I second-guessed myself. I wondered if I was being dramatic, if I had taken it too far, if I was being cruel by drawing a line.

That’s how deep the conditioning goes. That’s how beating yourself up becomes your favorite hobby.

You protect your child. You do what you know is right. And then you punish yourself for it.

Here’s how that cycle works. Here’s how the guilt gets under your skin and stays there, even when it shouldn’t.

1. You confuse guilt with being good.
You grew up thinking that if it hurts, it must mean you care. If you carry the guilt long enough, maybe it proves you’re the better person. Perhaps it means you’re nothing like the ones who hurt you. So you hold it. You nurse it. You call it empathy, but it’s not. It’s grief. It’s fear. It’s survival mode, you never got the chance to grow out of.

2. You turn on yourself before anyone else can.
It’s safer that way. You blame yourself first. You get ahead of the punishment. You run the worst-case scenario before it even happens. That way, if someone does get mad, you’re already halfway into self-destruction. You don’t have to be blindsided. You’re already bleeding. You call it control, but it’s fear disguised as preparation.

3. You were trained to carry the weight for everyone.
Keeping the peace was your job. Making things easier and smoothing things over. So when you finally make a decision that protects someone else, someone innocent, someone hurt, it still feels like betrayal. It feels like you’re letting everyone down, even when you’re the only one standing up for what’s right.

4. You think beating yourself up makes you accountable.
You think that if you suffer enough, it proves you’re not careless. That you’re not cold. That you understand the impact. But accountability is not self-punishment. It’s not turning your own heart into a punching bag. Accountability means standing in your truth and owning your choices, even when they hurt, even when you’re alone in them.

You can know something is right and still feel crushed by the guilt of doing it. That’s the part people don’t talk about.

The pain of healing is that it often makes you look like the villain to the people who benefited from your silence. And the reflex to beat yourself up is strong. It feels like the only way to keep the peace with yourself when everyone else is pulling away. But beating yourself up is not the same as being good. It’s just the story they taught you to believe. And you don’t have to keep telling it.

What to Do When You’re Caught in the Middle

Being caught in the middle doesn’t feel like conflict — it feels like captivity.
It feels like being stuck in a snare with no way to move without hurting someone.
Like a mouse trap waiting to snap shut.
Like you’re locked in a raccoon cage, unsure if speaking the truth will free you… or cost you everything.

People talk about “taking sides” like it’s simple.
But when you’re caught in the middle of family, trauma, loyalty, and truth, nothing about it is simple.

It’s one of the loneliest places a person can stand.

What You’re Really Caught Between

Sometimes “caught in the middle” means choosing between two opinions.

But sometimes — like in my life — it means standing between your own child who was harmed and your own child who did the harming.

Between the daughter who still carries wounds and the son whose actions caused them.

Between the victim in your home and the perpetrator who shares your blood.

Between your mother — who continues contact with the perpetrator — and your daughter, the victim.

Between your loyalty as a mother and your integrity as a protector.

Between who you used to be and who you’re becoming.

Between the pressure to keep quiet and the truth that refuses to stay silent anymore.

It’s not two sides.
It is layers of emotional conflict, guilt, fear, and responsibility colliding inside your chest.

Why This Position Freezes You

People say, “Just say what you feel,” but they don’t see what comes with it.

When you’re in the middle, speaking the truth feels dangerous.

You fear hurting someone you love.
You fear being misunderstood.
You fear being shunned.
You fear being blamed for protecting the wrong person — when you know exactly who needs protection.
You fear your mother’s reaction.
You fear the silence, the withdrawal, the guilt she might use.
You fear your childhood patterns pulling you back into old roles.

You fear becoming the target for finally telling the truth.

That fear freezes you.
Not because you’re weak, but because you’ve carried too many people’s emotions for too long.

You’re Allowed to Step Out of the Middle

This is the truth many of us need spoken out loud:

You are not betraying anyone by protecting the victim.
You are not abandoning someone by refusing to enable harmful choices.
You are not wrong for saying, “Enough.”
You are not required to cushion your truth to keep someone else comfortable.
You can love someone and still say, “This crosses a line for me.”
You can grieve what happened without sacrificing your integrity.

You are allowed to choose clarity over chaos.
You are allowed to choose protection over appeasement.
You are allowed to choose truth over silence.

You are allowed — fully allowed — to walk out of the middle.

How to Un-Freeze When You’re Caught in the Middle

Here are the steps that help you move from paralysis to clarity:

1. Name What’s Actually Happening

Write it plainly.
Do not soften it for someone else’s comfort.

2. Ask What Aligns With Your Values

What decision reflects the kind of mother, woman, friend, or human you want to be?

3. Decide Who Truly Needs Protection

Protect the vulnerable one.
Protect the honest one.
Protect the one who did not choose this.

4. Set One Clear, Simple Boundary

Not a debate.
Not a speech.
A boundary.

“This is not okay with me.”
“I won’t participate in this.”
“I love you, but I cannot be involved if you continue this.”

5. Speak With Clarity and Compassion

Firm does not mean unkind.
Compassion does not mean surrender.

6. Allow People to React However They React

They may:
– Shame you
– Guilt you
– Pull away
– Play victim
– Get angry
– Give the silent treatment

Their reaction belongs to them.
It is not proof you did something wrong.
It is evidence that you set a boundary they didn’t like.

7. Anchor Yourself After the Conversation

Your body may shake.
Your stomach may twist.
Old fears may roar.

That is normal.

Here are anchoring practices:

• Breathe: 4 seconds in, 6–8 out.
• Hand on chest: “I am safe. I told the truth.”
• Move your body: walk, stretch, shake out your hands.
• Ground yourself:
5 things you see
4 things you can touch
3 things you hear
2 things you smell
1 thing you taste
• Write what triggered you.
• Remind yourself: “A trembling body is a brave body.”
• Talk to someone who truly understands the situation.

Anchoring doesn’t erase fear — it prevents fear from dragging you back into silence.

Taking a Stand Doesn’t Make You Divisive

Taking a stand does not divide a family.
Harm divides families.
Silence divides families.
Minimizing what happened divides families.

Standing for what’s right is clarity, not conflict.

Protecting a victim is integrity.
Refusing to stand in the middle is courage.

A Soft, Steady Closing

There comes a moment when staying in the middle becomes impossible.
Not because you stopped loving people.
Not because you’re choosing sides out of anger.
But because the truth finally whispers:

“You don’t belong in the snare anymore.”

Stepping out isn’t selfish — it’s sacred.
It’s the moment you choose protection over silence, healing over guilt, and courage over captivity.

It’s the moment you finally allow yourself to stand somewhere solid —
where your truth has room to breathe.

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

Why No One Can Cheer You Up (And Why You Don’t Want Them To)

It’s not that you can’t feel better…it’s that you don’t trust better.

When you’re upset, it feels like nothing can touch you. Friends try to cheer you up, but their words bounce right off. You shut it down with,

“You don’t understand,” or “I can’t help the way I feel.”

Here’s the thing: you’re not wrong for wanting to sit in your feelings. Pain can feel safer than pretending everything’s okay. But sometimes, without realizing it, you hold on to that pain like proof. Proof that you were hurt, evidence that your feelings are real, proof that you’re not invisible.

And letting it go? That feels scary. Because misery, as heavy as it is, can start to feel familiar. Almost like home.

You’re not broken for feeling this way. You’ve just learned to live with despair for so long that happiness feels foreign. But here’s the truth: you deserve more than the familiar depression. You deserve peace, even if it feels uncomfortable at first.

Such was I. I lived in an abusive marriage for 24 years. When I finally dared to leave, I started reflecting and asked myself,

“Why had I stayed so long?”

In the future, I knew I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to end up in another abusive marriage. So I looked back at my past relationships, and they were all the same. Abusive.

Wow. Who am I? And why am I choosing this path?

That’s when I realized I had an addiction problem. I was addicted to pain—the pain and the drama of the chaos. I was stuck in a cycle, like a revolving door. So I constantly had to remind myself why I was leaving. I had to remind myself that I deserved better and that I should look for someone who was the complete opposite.

And that’s precisely what I did. Today, I stand on the other side of abuse. Stronger, freer, and committed to helping others find their own path out.

Need help?
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, emotional distress, or abuse, support is available 24/7:

Addiction Recovery: Call 866-606-0182 or visit our treatment center directory
Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Dial 988 (free, confidential, 24/7)
Domestic Violence Hotline: Call 800-799-7233 or text START to 88788
Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): Call 800-656-4673 or visit online.rainn.org

You are not alone. There is help. There is hope. And you are worth the healing.

The Book That Changed Everything

How grace broke the chains of control in my home and heart

“We are responsible to each other, not for each other.”
— Jeff VanVonderen, Families Where Grace Is in Place

I don’t remember the exact year or even where we were living at the time. But I know it was somewhere between 2007 and 2009 when I picked up a book that would change everything: Families Where Grace Is in Place by Jeff VanVonderen.

I didn’t know it then, but those pages were about to unravel everything I thought I believed about parenting, marriage, and faith.

Before Grace

At the time, I was a stay-at-home wife and a homeschooling mom of ten. Number eleven would arrive later. I was also a preacher’s wife. My husband and I were fully immersed in Independent Fundamental Baptist ministry. We pastored churches, traveled as evangelists, and held revival meetings across the country.

We were loyal. Passionate. Zealous. And convinced we were right.

We preached that having a television was sinful. That women wearing pants was sinful. That too much makeup was sinful—though a little was allowed, so long as it didn’t “draw attention.” I sewed all my own dresses and wore my hair long—though thanks to my hormones, it rarely got far past my shoulders.

We were strict with our children. They had no phones, no TV (because we didn’t own one), no outside friends, no sports. We believed all of those things would lead to sin. We even pulled our oldest son out of college once, convinced he was living “outside the umbrella” of parental authority.

We spanked often. Sometimes for small things. Sometimes for nothing more than an attitude. Every day, we sat our kids down and taught them right from wrong. We drilled obedience into them—not from a place of love, but fear. Fear that if they messed up, it would reflect badly on us. That we’d look like failures. That God would be disappointed.

When we lived in Iowa, I made my girls wear skirts over their snowsuits just to play outside. When we went swimming, it was always in remote places. The girls swam in culottes. The boys wore jeans. My children weren’t allowed to have their own opinions or make their own decisions.

They were born walking on eggshells—and we made sure those eggshells never cracked.

The Book

I don’t recall how I ended up with Families Where Grace Is in Place. Maybe someone passed it to me. Perhaps I picked it up on a whim. But as I began reading, the words leaped off the page. Sentence after sentence felt like someone had opened a window I didn’t even know was there.

The book talked about how families fall into cycles of control, pressure, and manipulation—often in the name of love or righteousness. It spoke of the deep weariness that comes from trying to meet impossible standards. The perfectionism. The fear of failure.

That was us. Especially with so many children, we constantly felt watched, judged, and evaluated. Our theology was built on performance. And we were exhausted.

Then came a line that hit me in the chest:

“We are responsible to each other, not for each other.”

It undid me. All at once, I saw the truth. I wasn’t parenting out of love—I was parenting out of fear. I wasn’t guiding my husband—I was trying to control him. And he was trying to control me. Together, we had built a family that looked good on the outside but was suffocating on the inside.

The book painted a different vision: one where grace replaced fear. Where children were free to make decisions and mistakes. Where love didn’t mean control. Where acceptance was not conditional on perfection.

And something inside me shifted.

The Bridge

As I read, I had one aha moment after another.

I realized we were trying so hard to protect our children from the world that we were crushing their spirits. We didn’t want them to sin, so we removed their freedom. We didn’t want them to mess up—so we made every decision for them. We called it holiness. But really, it was fear.

Even our decision to homeschool wasn’t about education. It was about control. About keeping their behavior within a bubbl,e we could manage.

After trying to “homeschool with grace” for a while, I finally admitted the truth: we weren’t equipped. So we enrolled our children in public school.

It wasn’t a seamless transition. One of my daughters started school in her junior year and had to double up on math to catch up. Thankfully, Arkansas accepted her science, history, and English credits. One of my younger girls had to repeat kindergarten because I hadn’t finished the year—we had opened a daycare in our home, and it consumed my time and attention.

My third daughter and fifth son—only a year and a half apart—both entered fourth grade the same year. He had fallen behind under my teaching. I warned the principal to separate them; I knew she’d do all his work if they stayed together. They listened, and the school helped bring him up to speed within that year.

During this season of change, I was also starting to rediscover my own worth. I filed for a restraining order against my abusive husband. For a time, I let him come back—still caught in that old belief that if I just tried harder, he would change. That if I prayed more, obeyed more, submitted more, he would become the man I needed.

But I was beginning to see: you can’t change someone by controlling them. You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed.

After Grace

It’s been over 16 years since I read that book. My baby is now a junior in high school. The way I parent him is entirely different than how I raised the others—especially the oldest ones.

I’ve apologized to some of my children. I’ve told them I wish I could go back and do it all differently. And I mean it. I see some of them now, parenting the way I once did—out of fear, trying to control everything. But I don’t lecture. I offer gentle reminders. I try to model something different.

Our family structure isn’t perfect. Our children aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect. One of my sons is in prison. That hurts to say. But even in that, grace remains. We no longer try to control each other. We don’t panic when we see a child or sibling making choices we wouldn’t make. We offer love. We offer space.

And we let go.

Letting go is hard. Watching someone you love repeat mistakes you’ve already made is hard. Trusting grace instead of fear is hard.

But control?

Control is harder.

💬 Want to share your story of breaking free from control-based parenting or faith structures? Comment below or message me privately — you’re not alone.

What kind of God does that?

“Oh my god what have you done! This is all your fault! You are such a fucking idiot! You’re such a dumb fuck! You fucking bitch, how could you do this?” His anger was strong, his face was red from screaming. His eyes bulging, as he paced back and forth flaying his hands in the air.

I sat sobbing, my face in my hands, heart broken for my daughter.

I had no idea the puppy would jump off the porch. I tied her there so I could clean the laundry room, where we kept her. I didn’t know she’d jump, didn’t know it was a life threatening action.
He continued screaming.”you fucking bitch! I hate you! Everyone hates you! Ahhhh! All of this is your fault! This is a sign from God that you’re living in sin, your not right with God! You better listen! You better wake up!”

Now he is within inches of my face. I could feel the heat from his words and smell the morning coffee on his breath. Flicks of spit were hitting my face with each word he muttered.

I had ceased to hear what he was saying. I had gone into my catatonic self preservation state. Staring through him, at nothing. My own thoughts screaming in my head, “Why God, WHY would you let this happen??”

It all started with my daughter wanting a yellow lab puppy so bad.

We couldn’t afford one. Every time she would ask we would tell her to pray for one because she was determined to have a yellow lab.

Finally she decided to do just that, she began praying. I instructed her on how to pray and how to ask God for a promise. She had her bible verse promise and she prayed daily for that puppy. I told her “sometimes God might give us something a little different then what we pray for”. So not to expect it to be a lab.

One day one of our church members heard she had been praying for a puppy and said their daughters dog had a litter of pups and asked if we were interested in the last one. When we asked what kind they were Mrs Kennedy said that Lynettes dog had a litter of full blood yellow labs.

My heart fluttered and a small tear entered my eye. God was answering my daughters prayer exactly how she wanted! But there was still the issue of money, Pure Bred dogs are expensive. We didn’t say anything to Lydia, we just told her to keep praying that God would “give” her a puppy.

Later that evening Mrs. Kennedy called Phil and told him that she and Ed wanted to give it to Lydia as a gift.

I could not contain my happiness!

The next day Ed and Bonita brought the puppy to our house. We kept it a secret. When they handed the pup to Lydia she burst into tears. Dottie was absolutely everything she had been praying for.

I felt such accomplishment. We had taught our daughter to pray for the things she wanted and also taught her that God answers prayers.
He has turned his anger up and out yelling and screaming at God, “where are you? You don’t exist!” Then he’d turn and scream into the air in front of him, “Satan I hate you! Get out of my house!” As spit fell down his chin. He gripped his grilling spatula and started beating his brand new grill. A fathers day gift from all the children. He beat it over and over repeatedly until it was nothing more than a curled up jumbled mess.

I’m thinking past all the screaming words and violence. I do not care what he’s saying about or to me or to God, Satan or that grill.

Where is my daughter? Is she ok? Her gift snatched from her in just a few short days – what kind of God does that? What kind of God answers a prayer exactly the way you prayed it and then suddenly takes it away? Who does that? Why?

I never received an answer that day. My daughter has pushed the incident to the back of her memories calling her the “dog who committed suicide”.

I wanted to die that day. It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last.

Maybe

“”Wow! You should write a book!” He shook his head in amazement mixed with bewilderment and perplexity.

I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath and looked up. I Shook my head in agreement. (If I had a dollar for everytime someone told me that, I would have enough money to actually publish the book!)

He continued, “No, I’m being serious.”

Tears started to fill my eyes, I didnt even want to come into his office today, but my daughter requested that I be in there this time. I laughed mockingly and said, “Yes, I know, but I’m not ready to revisit it.”

His face cringed as he realized that my daughters therapy session could easily turn into my therapy session. “I understand, but just when you think that MAYBE you can, then that is the percise time to do it. It may even help you get some closure.”

“Closure” But I am over my ex! or at least I thought I was. MAYBE it is time.MAYBE this is it. MAYBE this is the beginning, to the end.

That day

That day.

I remember exactly where I was standing.

The time of day, the lighting in the house.

It was evening, so, the sun was lowering in the sky casting shadows in that kitchen.

I stood by the enormous stainless Steel fridge.

I was wiping the microwave when I asked her, “so you saw it?”

She shook her head “yes”.

I said, “ewww… Gross! That must have been scarring! Those things are ugly!” (Referring to her oldest brothers penis).

Right then I knew I had to ask the next question, even though I didn’t want to know the answer.

“So, did he try to stick it in? In you?”

Her eyes never looked up at me, as she said, “yeah, I told him to stop because it hurt but he said he was ‘almost there’. ”

I know my facial expressions changed.

I now had information that could put my son away in prison for years.

I am in shock.

She still isn’t making eye contact with me, but she trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I couldn’t let her down. I didn’t.

I asked her where and when and got more details.

One thing is for sure, I will never forget that day. The place, the time nor the time of year.

That day. The beginning of many that would send me and my family down an emotional roller coaster of a journey.

That day. That knowledge. We will never forget.

That day.

It finally happened

It finally happened

I’ve been bottled up for quite some timeI was beginning to wonder if I had lost my tears

Or if I’d forgotten how to cry
My daughter said today, “you used to be so happy ”

But I couldn’t tell her half the reasons why I lost my smile

She’d feel guilty and regret her confessions.
So I pawned it off in her two hoodlum brothers who can’t seem to stay off of drugs or out of trouble … Yeah, them… They’re the reason I stay exhausted and emotionless
But the truth is due to a combination of things…
This week I sifted through the belongings of my son… The one in prison… I wasn’t prepared for that walk down memory lane.

This evening I called he sheriff on my 2 “hoodlum” no s for smoking pot out back….
I have so many goals … So many dreams… This is not how my family was supposed to turn out…

I still have more goals and dreams but am finding it harder and harder to see how they can or will be accomplished.
So tonight … It happened…
I cried
Everything bottled up started to ooze out… Just enough so that I could tighten the seal back up.

So
Here I sit.

Emotionless again.

Agelast

Sitting in a 10×10 room. There are 7 of us. 4 chairs and a table with 2 magazines.
Everyone around me is giggling and laughing tying to make light of a very heavy situation.
I’m sitting on the floor. I feel as though I’m just a fly on the wall. Their antics are not funny to me. Their mirth just irritates me.
I have tunnel vision. It’s as if they are just a fog surrounding me.
My son has just confessed to every crime he has been accused of.
I am numb. I can barely breathe much less smile. The defense attorneys summon me outside the 10×10 box.
They ask me, “would you like an opportunity to talk to your son? You do understand he will be going away for a very long time”.
Emotionless I gaze into their eyes and answer, “yes. Please.”
They lead me into a room where I see my son sobbing on the other side of the glass. His head in his arms.
I place my hand on the glass hoping he would reach out. I sit and watch him cry, tears streaming down my face. He looks up and repeatedly says, “I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry mom…” And puts his head back down. I said, “son. Look at me.”
My hand still on the glass. He looks up.
I said, “son, I forgive you.”
He shakes his head as more tears stream down his face.
Then his hand rests on the glass against where mine is.
We keep our hands there in an attempt to feel a hug. This is our goodbye.
I reminded him that I love him, as I walk out of the room sobbing through my tunnel that I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Back into the room of mirth where I sit quietly, agelast.
Agelast – Forget your faith