The BookWhat Odd Things I Thank You For
Discovering Grace in a Shattered Life What odd things I thanked you for then:
What odd things I thank you for now:
Laurie Tucker’s What Odd Things I Thank You For is a compelling story of her return to the harrowing darkness of childhood sexual abuse to find and retrieve her soul. Her challenging journey from darkness to light will make you laugh, move you to tears, and stay in your heart forever. You will be changed by this transformative story. |
Laurie's co-authors
Sunshine, Little Laurie, & Lockie
Sunshineis about two—a sunny, blonde-haired, joyful child. Her eyes are full of light. She embodies the gift of trust and the passion of life. I lost her at the beginning of the first episode of abuse; she torpedoed out of my body into a tree to hide. Bringing her back into my life has allowed me to trust that I am safe and to offer my story to the world.
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Little Laurieis three to five years old. She is full of love, generosity, kindness, and a deep need to please. Her strength and courage cannot be overstated. In my mind’s eye she has butter-blonde hair and dark blue eyes, both knees usually skinned from climbing trees and riding bikes. I sense an eagerness in her.
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Lockieappears sixteen, though her memories range from thirteen to twenty-one. She is a typical teenager—happy one moment, in great angst the next. She is sassy, funny, and sometimes lippy. She is also my gentle no-bullshitter who keeps me from self-delusion. She is fiercely protective of me and all whom I love. Lockie is slim, with long, light brown hair. She wears little make-up. Her eyes hint at the trauma she endured. She is my warrior, my truth-teller, my never-wavering compass on this path.
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From the Book
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Below you'll find excerpts from the book that include passages and prayers Laurie writes about in What Odd Things I Thank You For. These samples speak to those struggling with being a victim of sexual abuse, survivors, family members and more.
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I've Had It All Wrong
"I thought I could only be a victim of abuse. I was wrong."
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Lord,
I’ve had it all wrong. I’ve been so angry that such horrors happened to me. I’ve wanted special treatment from you. I wanted you to intervene, to save me from the horror then, and I want you to save me from the hard work now. I need to turn and look the other way. I have such gratitude. I survived my childhood, mostly intact. My parents did not abandon me, forcing me to live on the streets. My husband did not abandon me, leaving me to face my terrors on my own. I was neither forced to sell my body to feed my children nor resort to violence to keep us safe. Instead you have given me a loving husband who supports this healing path. You have given me the means to go to therapy often. You have let me do this work full time. You have sent such gifted healers to help me along the way. Thank you, my God, for these blessings heaped upon my head. Show me how to use these gifts to help myself and to help others. Amen |
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Until I knew myself as a victim, I couldn’t be anything else.
What does it take to know yourself as a victim? In my case, the first step was to quit listening to my birth family and start listening to myself. Other people, usually those closest to you, will try to talk you out of believing your own intuition. The ones who try hardest are often the most culpable; they will do and say anything to get you to look away. They are like really bad magicians who, with wild gestures, try to make you look at the other hand while they do the trick ineptly. You know the truth. Even if you don’t know all the details, you know in your body, buried deeply, exactly what happened. Your job is to dig it out. The next step is to find people strong enough and loving enough to be with you while you excavate the truth of your life buried under all the lies and deception. Someone in your family may be strong enough, but likely you will also need to find others to help you—therapists, friends, coworkers, neighbors, the neighbor’s dog, your cat. Believe me, you will talk to them all, tell them all what you are discovering about yourself because you can’t stop talking about what you are learning. What is needed is Victims Anonymous, a circle of accepting people with whom, every day, you can stand up and say, “Hi, I’m Laurie, and I am a victim.” And they will reply, “Hi, Laurie,” and then hear you out without suddenly needing to book a vacation to the Antarctic or remembering that they promised to weed their neighbor’s garden. Good luck finding them. You will, but you will talk with a lot of frogs before you find your princes. Don’t feel guilty about telling everyone. This horrible, terrible, incredibly unbelievable thing has happened to you, and you are desperately seeking validation for what you have learned. You need it, and you deserve it. Keep talking.... |
Profound Gratitude
"My family determined I was mentally ill."
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Lord God,
Today I step again into the utter blackness of my life. I am weary and overwhelmed. But what I feel most, Lord, is profound gratitude for this darkness, this evil that is slowly giving way to light. Without abuse, without torture, without the hardship of surviving with little help, there would have been no reason to question my life or search for you in new ways. Without despair that laid open my flesh to the bone, there would have been no cause to surrender to your love and healing grace. Without such need to heal, I would not know the incredible people you have placed in my life. Even as I feel I will drown under it all, I thank you for this amazing journey. Amen |
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In a letter to Ella, Chuck wrote:
You asked for my take on Laurie’s illness… First, Laurie does not have an illness, and it is counter-productive to think of her as ill. She is a survivor of sexual abuse. You would never describe a rape victim as “ill,” but you would surely recognize that the victim had many difficult issues to deal with. That is exactly the situation Laurie is in. You expressed concern about the therapeutic techniques, the memories she recovers… Laurie’s therapy is following a well known and widely accepted route. (If you are inclined to read, I can recommend “Trauma and Recovery” by Judith Herman). The dark memories of the trauma (which are often repressed and always fragmented) must be uncovered, brought out into the light, and re-assembled into a coherent memory. One must then find a way to integrate this memory into one’s life in a way that acknowledges the reality of the experience, but that removes the power of the past to control one’s future. There are therapeutic techniques to help a person uncover the memories, and there are techniques to help a person integrate the past experience. There is no substitute for the hard work of “going there.” You expressed concern about… her physical condition following these sessions. The physical and emotional aftermath of a regression session is likewise painful and frightening. In a regression, Laurie experiences some part of the abuse in real time. As a young girl she blocked out most of the experience, which she had no way to handle. In regression she “sees” things, in many ways, for the first time. You would expect a person who was recently traumatized to be upset, to weep, to scream, to have difficulty with everyday tasks. Laurie re-lives her trauma in small increments, and then experiences the same types of aftermath. Happily, while the aftermath experience is difficult, it does not go on forever. What is emerging is a cycle that lasts about a week: a regression, a few days to come to grips with what she saw, a few days of reaction, and a day or so to catch her breath before beginning the cycle again. You should also understand that, at the same time that she is doing this work, Laurie functions well in the everyday events of life. She keeps the house, meets clients, pays the bills, goes dancing. She is able to put aside her therapeutic work when she must. |
Two Words
"I didn't want to lose my children in my healing process."
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I am off balance today, my God.
I feel besieged. Both my daughter and my inner child ask me to listen and learn from them. Both have been harmed, both have pain and anger they need me to know. I find I do not know how to help them—it will harm one if I do what the other needs. So I offer them to you, God. I ask your help as I try to meet each openly and in love. Help me release my guardedness and learn all that is needed in this day. Ah, God, it all comes down to two words: Please help. And two more: Thank you. Amen |
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When the children were little and learning their manners, I would wait to release a glass into their grip until they said “thank you.” Sometimes it was necessary to hold on to the glass for several seconds until they remembered. One day our next-door neighbor, Cameron, was playing with Mark. They came inside, asking for a drink. When I handed Cameron his glass, he took it. But I didn’t let go. He tugged; I held on. Finally he said, “I’ve got it, let go.” Mark looked from Cameron to me and said, “No, Cameron, you have to say ‘thank you’ before she’ll let go. Just say it; come on, man.” Cameron said “thank you,” and the drink was all his.
The kids knew the rules, and they also knew they could sometimes get me to bend them. One day, at the end of several hours at the local swimming pool, we were all tired and hot. It was only an hour or so before dinner, too late to have a snack. The Baskin-Robbins next to the pool called out to us. Two pairs of blue eyes turned winsomely toward me. Mark and Olivia turned on the cute button, charmingly promising to eat a really good dinner if they could have ice cream. I thought about it. “OK,” I said, “we can get ice cream, but don’t tell your mother. Your mother can’t let you get ice cream this close to dinner.” They solemnly assured me they wouldn’t tell. When Little Laurie first came into my consciousness, I had a sense of a little girl trapped beneath a large ledge. I tried to reach her but could not. We kept talking, and I told her again and again how much I wanted to help her. As time went by, she appeared in my mind in the room where she lived—a locked metal room. She slept on a metal slab jutting from the wall. There was no light, no window, no pillow, no stuffed animal. Nothing soft to comfort her. Little Laurie told me she had to stay there to be safe. She wasn’t allowed to come out. But she did let me talk from the other side of the door and eventually opened it. I mentally packed her a backpack so she could leave one day, tossing in a pillow and stuffed bear for comfort. |
For Those Who Cannot Speak
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When fear keeps you silent and hidden,
We will speak for you. When the shouting voices demand your compliance, We will whisper your truth. When society and culture blame you for cruelties endured, We will illuminate your reality. When fear keeps you trapped, We will share your story as our own. |
When you exist in a life not of your choosing,
We will not forget you. When we demand justice, You will demand justice, too For we are one in our suffering and in our strength. We carry you on our shoulders as we stand in the light. |