Anne Marie Miller

Category: Health

  • Practicing Trauma Recovery and Replanting My Feet

    In 2017, I never thought I’d be back in the writing world. I “retired” and went into nursing school and closed down this blog and my public social media. I began that goodbye saying, “This is my final post.” It wasn’t, and so I won’t say that this is my final post. I only have two feet to put in my mouth and I’ve used both of them up.

    The Revival

    In 2018, I decided to report my childhood sexual abuse. Mark Aderholt, the man who sexually abused me in 1996, was arrested and indicted on four felonies: Indecency with a Child: Sexual Contact and Sexual Assault of a Child under 17 years old. While the Tarrant County DA accepted a plea bargain presented by the defense (Aderholt pleaded guilty to a fifth charge: Assault Causing Bodily Injury), I decided that this was the end of that trauma in my life.

    Recovery is a lifelong journey, but I’ve taken my power back. This is over because I spoke the truth and I forgave him. This ending has nothing to do with his cowardly lack of admission but instead my choice to leave it behind. I had the opportunity to face him at his sentencing and read him a victim impact statement which you can read here.

    This event was in the middle of a reckoning in the evangelical church (in my case, the Southern Baptist Convention and it’s foreign missions organization, the International Mission Board) and the #churchtoo movement. It’s been encouraging to see the baby steps they are taking to prevent and heal sexual abuse that’s happened in the church. It’s frustrating that (yet I am grateful for) the mainstream media bringing attention to it after years of voices within the church trying, but it is what it is, nonetheless. A personally meaningful and memorable piece was when Rachel Martin from NPR’s Morning Edition took the time to listen to my story. The last-minute of the interview is a perfect example of holding space for someone in their grief.

    In the journey over the last year and a half, I saw the need for a resource for those who support survivors. I began writing it with the intent to self-publish it, but the publisher of my first book decided to pick this one up. My latest book, Healing Together, A Guide to Supporting Sexual Abuse Survivors, released on October 15, 2019, through Zondervan. You can get a copy here.

    As I did in 2017, I don’t expect to pick up the pen professionally again at this point. I began nursing school in 2017 and after a year hiatus due to the criminal investigation, I intend to finish my BSN at the end of 2023 and continue on to graduate school to work in psychiatric nursing. My current job at a DFW hospital system, which I love, the joy of serving my family and my patients and my focus on my education is more than enough to prevent my hands from being idle.

    Practices in Healing

    Some have asked what therapies and practices I’ve found to be most effective in my healing. I say the word practice because that’s exactly how it works. We practice. Sometimes we master it and sometimes we fail. The point is, we practice. Have grace and be gentle with yourself.

    The below practices and resources are the ones that I’ve personally found to be exceptionally helpful at healing trauma and opening up space for me to find new joy, make daily choices to continue to grow, stay healthy, and not allow the trauma of the past to linger within my body now that the threat is gone. It’s been about nine months of intentionally choosing to move within this flow, and while there are challenging days and events, I’ve found that far more often than not, I feel balanced, calm, and hopeful. Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor or psychologist, so please check with your own health care providers to see what healthy options are available to you in your unique situation.

    Physical Health

    • Eating a completely vegetarian (no meat or fish) diet, consuming fewer animal products (usually humanely curated cheese, butter, and eggs), fewer processed foods (keep in mind, we have a three-year-old so boxed mac and cheese is a staple).
    • Drinking a lot of water. A LOT. No soda or alcohol, and coffee as needed but only until noon.
    • Going to bed ideally by 9 pm (10 pm at the latest) and waking up by 5:30 am (6:30 am at the latest) even on weekends. In either case, listening to my body and giving it grace for the exceptions is just as important.
    • Exercising in some capacity once or twice a day with slow-paced exercise. For me, it’s been yoga, mostly power yoga (yoga combined with HITT and calisthenics) for 30 minutes a day (and if I can’t do that, at least 10 in the morning or before bed). I also try walking the dogs every night after Charlotte goes to bed but when it’s cold or windy, Tim graciously walks them. Also, stretching every morning and before bed.
    • Practicing deep breathing in the morning, at lunch, before bed, and as needed.
    • Being more intentional about my posture. This tiny act helps breathing, the energy I put out into the space around me, and my confidence. Who knew?

    Mental and Emotional Health

    Spiritual and Relational Health

    Out of all the health compartments, this is the one I struggle with the most. I’m introverted so I refuel alone, and after working a full day with 20-30 patients and coworkers, even on the best of days (most of them!) I am mentally fulfilled and also exhausted. Even with my introvertedness, I prefer face-to-face contact, and I’m horrible at responding to email and texts. I communicate with my best friends (who don’t live in DFW) on Snapchat just so we can use video instead of texting.

    With that disclosure, here are some goals I’ve set for myself and that I’m intentionally taking baby steps to accomplish. Remember: practice.

    • I want to join interest groups. There are a few health collectives/co-ops and yoga and hiking groups I’m trying to get the courage to show up to and practice in a group. I’ve gone to a few meetings of a DFW group that works to communicate the research behind psychedelics to people who’ve never looked at these medications in a therapeutic way. As a future psychiatric nurse practitioner hoping to help survivors of trauma, this area (if you can’t tell) is incredibly interesting to me. The group also exists to educate those who choose to use psychedelics about their risks and best practices so that if someone chooses to use these substances, they do so in an informed way. To be clear: the group does not encourage or promote the use of these medications, it is not a place to buy or sell them and anyone who joins with the intent or expression to do so is not allowed to participate. It’s an incredibly diverse group of professionals of all ages, students, city leaders, law enforcement, and religious leaders.
    • I’ve started to explore the desire (it’s a very, very, very small desire) to start attending church again. The place where Charlotte goes to preschool is a part of a UMC church close to where we live, and we went to a couple of services there when she had events during the Sunday services. Maybe. Maybe.
    • I’m preparing (it’s on my bedside table) to read some classic Christian literature that I used to find encouraging in the past. Maybe I’ll even pick up a Bible again. Part of this effort, as well as the desire to explore going to church, is to cautiously open up the doors for Charlotte to begin to understand the importance of faith in her life. I’m not sure what this looks like yet, but for now, being open to the idea is a scary step.

    Being mindful and aware of every day and every choice has reshaped my heart’s desire into unplugging from online spaces as my norm. And like in 2017, I plan on being less engaged online and more engaged in the tangible interactions in front of me (not that there is anything wrong or bad about choosing to be engaged online; that’s an entirely valid place to exist and helps many, many people). I’ll still pop in from time to time, and I’m encouraged by rekindling old friendships and forming new friendships over the last couple of years.

    I think that’s it for now. I’ve been writing this over a series of my “uninterrupted 30-minute lunch breaks” and I need to go back to work. I’ll probably be back some time. Probably. Maybe. We’ll see.

    Regardless, I’m grateful. Thank you.

    Postscript: More About Healing Together

    Here’s the back copy of Healing Together, so you can see if it’s a helpful resource for you. I’m pretty proud of it, to be honest. The work I’ve done in nursing school researching and practicing trauma-informed methodologies proved to be extremely useful in this book. It’s not a picture-perfect “I went through trauma. I healed. Jesus saved me. He’ll save you too” kind of book. My beliefs are changing within where they are rooted and “healing” is a big word with a lot of nuanced meaning. It’s my goal that the book informs you about what trauma does to our bodies and that it offers some gentle suggestions for walking alongside someone who’s been abused.

    Sex is such an intimate topic historically wrapped in shame and when someone shares they were sexually abused, we may not know how to respond.

    With recent #MeToo and #ChurchToo movements, we are learning just how many men, women, boys, and girls have suffered sexual abuse at the hands of a trusted person, often family members or leaders in the church. Sexual abuse is rampant in modern society and now–sometimes many years later–sexual abuse survivors are sharing their stories.

    Anne Marie Miller is a survivor of childhood clergy sexual abuse and has shared her journey toward healing with audiences all over the world. After speaking with thousands of survivors and their loved ones, she saw the need for a fundamental and practical guide for helping supporters of sexual abuse survivors understand the basics of abuse, trauma, healing, and hope. Drawing from her own experience as a survivor and evidence-based research, Anne addresses these questions and more in Healing Together:

    What is sexual abuse?

    How can I help survivors?

    Who are predators and how do they groom victims?

    How does trauma affect survivors?

    What happens when someone doesn’t remember the details of their abuse?

    How does abuse wound the physical, emotional, and spiritual health of people who have been abused?

    When and how should authorities be contacted?

    How do you talk to your children about sexual abuse?

    What are the warning signs of abuse?

    Is healing possible?

    Whether you are a spouse, a family member, a friend, or a church leader looking for easy-to-navigate resources to understand and support sexual abuse survivors, you’ll find answers and hope in these pages.

    You can get a copy of Healing Together: A Guide to Supporting Sexual Abuse Survivors right here or if you’re looking for a bulk discount for 5+ books @ $5.00 a book, you can click right over here and use the discount code “HEALING” to get that price.

  • Practical Steps You Can Take to Heal from Trauma and PTSD

    Practical Steps You Can Take to Heal from Trauma and PTSD

    As we get closer to the release of Healing Together: A Guide for Helping Sexual Abuse Survivors, I thought I’d share some practical steps I’ve found to be helpful as I’ve spent the last year and a half healing through the revival of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) that bulldozed me after reporting my childhood clergy sexual abuse (you can read my story here, here, here, and here, and my victim impact statement I read to Mark Aderholt, the man who abused me, at his sentencing just a couple of months ago.

    Trauma affects us in every way: physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and relationally. Over the next few days, I’ll be posting some practical steps survivors can take to help begin healing in every area of life.

    Why Healing Is Overwhelming

    I’ve broken these down into those five areas, and I’m intentionally labeling them each as individual “selves,” i.e, physical self, emotional self, etcetera. Yes, trauma damages a person holistically, in every system, but so frequently survivors, as a subconscious survival mechanism, disassociate and compartmentalize these various parts of who we are. Part of recovery is integrating them back together.

    If we’re not in touch with our whole “self” yet, trying to heal a little in every area all at once can get messy and confusing and we can feel defeated. Have you ever woke up on a particularly motivated day and thought, “Alright. This is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it all and do it now. I’m tired of being tired all the time.”

    Maybe you started eating healthy, made that counseling appointment, signed up for that book club and to run that 5k. You told your boss you can work more hours, you bought a planner, made a vision board, and reorganized your pantry.

    We try to do all these things at once so we can feel like our pre-trauma selves. But, let’s say your mental health isn’t doing so great so as you take on all these engaging tasks, your mind gets exhausted and overwhelmed. It’s a quick way to burn out (and when I burn out, it’s easy to ruminate on what a failure I perceive myself to be).

    I think the key is going slow, evaluating what areas we’re most affected in, affirming that it’s okay to be exactly where you are, and using our strengths as we take one. step. at. a. time. This will help us strengthen our weaker selves so we have the margin to continue healing and functioning in everyday life.

    In Healing Together, I write:

    The body of a survivor suffers great harm. It was the body that was violated first. In any case, another person took what God created for his good and his glory and tarnished it with evil. God does not hold the survivor responsible for what happened to their body, and he sees him or her as pure. He grieves over the pain that was caused.

    To survive the abuse physically and emotionally, survivors
    often disassociate or disconnect from sensations in their bodies.
    For survivors, being mindful and present in our bodies after
    abuse has occurred is a difficult task and can cause anxiety.

    Reconnecting with our bodies requires a lot of hard work, and
    usually professional help.

    Anne Marie Miller, Healing Together: A Guide for Supporting Sexual Abuse Survivors

    Three things I have found tremendously helpful as I’ve tried to learn how to care for my physical self are:

    • Drink water. All the time. Pee twenty times a day. This is so important for your blood pH and electrolyte balance. I don’t like water. Find a way that you can tolerate if you’re like me. Drink, drink, drink. If I fill up my to-go coffee thermos before bed and keep it on my bathroom counter, it reminds me to guzzle down a couple of cups of water first thing in the morning, and then I use the thermos for my coffee before heading out the door.
    • Feed my gut nutritious food, and not feel like a failure when I eat the 682 calorie chocolate chip cookie at Panera.

      (I’m not going to lie to you, so let’s get the elephant out first. I LOVE COOKIES. I love them more than most things in my life. They are my biggest dopamine providers. Panera has an almost 700 calorie cookie that is meant to be shared. I have eaten two of them in one sitting. Obviously, I know this should not be the norm and thankfully, I intentionally do not go to Panera often because I know that I will regret my choices.)

      I try and live by the 80/20 rule. 80% of my food is whole food (as close to the original way it was made), is plant-based (I am 100% vegetarian meaning no fish, white meat, red meat, any meat), and is colorful. Eat every color of the rainbow in your food every day. Lately, I’ve been trying to find organic items that I can reasonably afford, and avoiding any built-in seasonings (extra preservatives and sodium) or extra ingredients (especially things with the word “isolate” in them). I find when I eat this way, I feel amazing and actually crave more nutritious food.

      Notice that I didn’t say “good” food or “bad” food here. Food does not have an intrinsic moral value. The key is eating nutritious food. It requires more time, more effort, more planning, more cooking, and I understand that all those things are hard to even want to do when everything else in our body is telling us to celebrate when we get out of bed and shower some days (which is also totally okay and you have permission to do).

      Here, I’ve found there is a paradoxical effect. The more time I take with grocery shopping, with reading the ingredients, with washing and prepping healthy things on Sunday evening (FWIW: that’s my worship service; you cannot immerse yourself in the colors and smells of God’s creation without being enamored. I am more grateful in my spirit when cutting up fresh cilantro than trying to “pray” the way I was taught growing up). I find I have more time during the week to eat, enjoy, have healthy options (less regret), and that gives me space to walk in my week knowing my family and I will be fed, and my physical self that needs healing is taking in food that is meant to flood my blood with vitamins and nutrients which heal damaged cells, keep my gut healthy and my immunity strong (usually not the case when we’re our system is producing extra of the stress hormone cortisol). I have more energy. I just feel better.

    Some of the foods and beverages I’ve fallen in love with in this season are:

    • multicolored carrots
    • multicolored cauliflower
    • radishes
    • all the berries, apples, peaches, bananas (never go anywhere without a banana), cucumbers, sweet peppers, grapes (cotton candy grapes anybody?)
    • strawberry Caprese salads (baby kale, strawberries, spinach, mozzarella cheese freshly torn, basil, tomatoes, loaded with flax and chia seeds and nuts with a little balsamic glaze on the side).
    • oatmeal with fresh or baked fruit and loads of cinnamon
    • columbian coffee with oat milk creamer
    • using veggie or lentil pasta (green lentil is the best) and mashed up chickpeas for the “meat” vibe in spaghetti sauce
    • mixed, whole grain rice stir-fried with whatever veggies I have chopped up, and baked tofu (it’s not gross, I promise)
    • heaps of fresh fruit and vegetables cut up and ready to eat in the fridge and on the counter
    • steamable plain veggies: super cheap, super easy, super good for you
    • one of my easiest go-to meals is microwaved brown rice topped with microwaved broccoli with whatever beans and sometimes microwaved sweet potato chunks. 10 minutes or so, $4-$5, and gives us at least 3-5 servings.
    • 92% dark chocolate in the freezer
    • mashed avocado with hard-boiled egg (I recommend these if you occasionally eat egg since they’re more humane than most) on whole-grain toast (bonus if you can find one with seeds. My favorite is a Texas brand
    • Kombucha and other teas
    • Some of my 20% foods are Kashi’s Go Love chocolate granola, Morning Star Popcorn “chicken,” various meat-free pizzas (Amy’s cheese or one with a cauliflower crust), pad Thai with vegan Thai sauce, and quesadillas (made with whole wheat tortillas, vegetarian black refried beans, a teeny tiny sprinkle of cheese, microwaved and then grilled in a pan, topped with corn, sliced sweet peppers, guac, and plain almond milk yogurt in lieu of sour cream).
    • One other physical practice I’ve been slowly integrating is moving more. I don’t want to call it “exercise” because “exercise” conjures up pictures of gyms and people running outside and sweating and I am not that girl. I have tried to be that girl. I am not that girl.

      Introverted me who is extremely uncomfortable exercising in front of people (a trait common amongst sexual abuse survivors) found that intentionally waking up early before my family (all the experts are right: the more you do it, the more you want to), doing yoga all by myself and watching the sun rise is immensely therapeutic. Yes, that means sometimes I’m awake at 5:15 am but it has been worth it. Amazon Prime, as well as YouTube, have free yoga programs from beginner all the way to expert and some integrate HIIT training and others are gentle and modified for people with injuries. You can always do yoga later, or some days not at all. At night, after our daughter is in bed, I take the dogs out for 20-30 minutes walking around in the quiet evening (pepper spray in hand because of hypervigilance).

      I try to do both of these things at least five times a week. I find I want to do them more. It’s the weirdest thing. Also, some days my body or mind says I need to get more rest, maybe not wake up early at all, forego the official “work out” and I’m learning to respect what I need for each day without judgment.

      I’ve had to remind myself none of this is meant for weight loss. It’s not a way to drop a dress size before your cousin’s wedding or the holidays. If I look at it as taking very small steps to take care of me, the pressure is off. Go at your own pace. Do what’s reasonable for you. Eat 50/50. Eat a vegetable. Walk once a week. Run a marathon. Do whatever is right for you at this moment and don’t take on someone else’s journey as your own.

    Unexpected Gifts

    What’s surprised me with doing this over the last few months is how much I have slowed down and take time to find beauty around me. I have been awed by little flowers, immersed in the flavor of a blackberry, felt the tingle in my mouth from a kombucha, melted in a hot cup of perfectly balanced creamy coffee, saved frogs and lizards from their demise as potential dog treats on walks, and learned about what stars are shining bright on my walks.

    I hope somehow these ideas that I’ve adopted into my daily habits can somehow be helpful to you. Everyone is different. Everyone needs different things. Let this list be a starting point for you. Maybe it can give you some ideas to adopt in a way that is right for your healing.

    Find something your body needs, give your body that thing and celebrate that you are becoming healthier with each cucumber, each attempt at downward-facing dog, or drinking that extra cup of water today.

    As my counselor says: You got this.

    Next up is Part 2: Mental Health.

  • Anne Marie Miller’s Victim Impact Statement after Guilty Plea from Mark Aderholt and Other Women Come Forward

    This morning, I had the opportunity to do something I never thought I would be able to do, emotionally or logistically: tell Mark Aderholt how the sexual abuse he inflicted on me as a teenager affected me, and that I forgave him. I did both at his hearing today at the Tarrant County Courthouse.

    Sarah Smith, who first shared my story last year after Mr. Aderholt’s arrest, wrote about the hearing here. She has become such a trusted friend in the last year. Just a day after coming back from an overseas (much needed) vacation, she traveled all the way up to Dallas to be present. The gallery was full of supporters: friends from twenty years ago and friends I met just today who have been fiercely encouraging over the last year. My family was there, and Tim stood by me as I read the statement. I am eternally grateful for everyone who was there in person or in spirit.

    I wanted to touch on a couple of things before you read the statement:

    • Mr. Aderholt was charged with a fifth crime: assault causing bodily injury. This is the crime he pleaded guilty to, and it’s a misdemeanor. I knew of this plea deal ahead of time, and knew of the sentence it likely carried. The judge did hand down the maximum sentence for this crime, but many people have expressed how the punishment is not fitting of the crime. He will not be on any registries and as long as he keeps the terms of his probation, there will actually be no record of his crimes on a background check.

      Over the last year, I have learned how unspeakably complicated the criminal justice system is. So many variables go into each and every case. While I think we all can agree that Mr. Aderholt is not facing the criminal penalty he should be, the DA’s office asked for my input and wishes during plea negotiations. This included taking into consideration the emotionally charged prospect of a jury trial, facing a relentless and brutal cross-examination by his defense attorney, the impact of a trial on my family and a potential verdict of not guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. I fully trust the prosecuting attorney and the final outcome. For what it’s worth, I do not believe this will be the last time Mr. Aderholt is in a courtroom. I know the court of public opinion (and media) are appropriately convicting of his actual offenses, should he apply for a job in ministry and the organization does a quick internet search.
    • You will notice in my statement a very important paragraph and relatively new development: I am not the only woman Mr. Aderholt has taken advantage of sexually. While these stories are not mine to tell, they are first-hand and disturbing. They have been authenticated by an independent party. The other women helped me write this and it was with their approval that I could share this in court. They can and should (and will) keep full agency of their stories. I believe there are even more people out there who have been affected by Mr. Aderholt’s manipulation.

    Others have come forward in the past few days and shared that you used their vulnerability for your sexual gratification, at times even doing so after you were told to stop.

    -Anne Marie Miller, Victim Impact Statement for Mark Aderholt
    • When I read the statement from Mr. Aderholt’s attorney, Justin Sparks, I literally almost threw up in my mouth. This does not reflect the plea agreement in the courtroom (the judge said something to the effect of “are you pleading guilty to this charge because you are guilty of this charge?” to which Mr. Aderholt agreed.) To hear that he still maintains his innocence and he agreed to this only for the sake of the lesser punishment and for his own “closure” is reprehensible and indicative of how truly deceived this man is.

      Mr. Sparks’ statement is a complete lie. Mark did plead guilty to the crime of bodily injury. If he “maintains his innocence” that just proves he either lied to the judge (hi, perjury!) or he is lying through his attorney. One more notch in the deception belt. What is on record, his pleading guilty, is the truth. What he said in the courtroom is the only thing that matters. What he said to the media is what he pays his lawyer to do: spin the truth. “Mark agreed to this result because the original allegations were abandoned and for closure.” WRONG. He pleaded guilty because he said he did it. Check the court records. Defending someone to the best of your ability is your job, Mr. Sparks. By saying he took the plea deal for reasons other than his admission implies he lied under oath when he pleaded guilty.

      Also in Mr. Sparks’ statement, he makes it seem like the DA just gave up on the case and whipped out an offer. This is TOTALLY false. We had always prepared to go to trial. On the last docket, the defense approached and asked for time and if the DA would consider a negotiation as an alternative to an open plea (trial by judge). We agreed and they came back to the DA’s office with the desire to have the charge changed to a misdemeanor. He is taking advantage of the fact the DA’s office cannot comment on cases so he can literally spew any kind of false information without accountability. I’m here to tell you every insinuation in his statement is 100% false.

    I am so glad this is over. As I state, this is the end not because of any confession or admission of guilt (which, even though he said the word, “guilty,” he evidently didn’t mean it after all), or him asking me for forgiveness (he didn’t even look me in the eye one time in the 10 minutes I read my statement, even though I said I would like to look him in the eye to tell him).

    It is over because I have spoken the truth into the world and I have forgiven him. The only lies that have any power any more are the lies he tells himself.

    Thank you for all of your support and prayers over the years, especially this last one. I’m going to sign off for a couple days and cuddle my little girl and celebrate the end of this with my family.

    Honorable Judge Hagerman: I want to thank you for this opportunity to give this statement. I would also like to thank Mr. William Knight and Detective Charles Cisneros who wisely and compassionately utilized the criminal justice system to hold Mr. Aderholt accountable for his character and actions.

    And before I address the defendant, I want to express gratitude to my husband Tim for supporting me with enduring and sacrificial love during this turbulent time, to my family and friends, including those standing with me today in flesh and in spirit, for their encouragement, love, and prayers, and to our daughter Charlotte who gives me the strength to move beyond this trauma into a courageous and joy-filled life.

    Now, I would like to address the defendant, Mr. Mark Aderholt.

    My family moved from Abilene to Arlington a couple of weeks into my junior year of high school, and I was completely alone. I knew nobody outside of my family and my parents were desperately trying to make ends meet. I was questioning my faith for the first time in my life because of the way the church treated us before we moved. I grieved the rich community I left behind, so I tried to do the one thing I knew how to do in pursuit of finding friends: be the good Christian girl.

    Because we weren’t going to church, I reached out to several pastors on America Online trying to find someone who could help me start a See You at the Pole event at my school. You responded to my email and we met at a McDonalds at the Hypermart off Cooper and Bardin in Arlington. After my mom met you and went to do her shopping, we talked over french fries. When we were done, we went to find my mom and the two of you exchanged seminary and missionary stories before we went our separate ways.

    My See You at the Pole event failed completely and I was having a crisis of faith and identity. You encouraged me to not give up, and you invited me over to your apartment to talk and pray.

    Finally, I thought. A friend.

    I went to your apartment, a bottom floor one bedroom in North Arlington. As we spent time together, we got to know each other. You told me about Pampa and your time at Wayland Baptist and your mission trips and your school. You told me about your family and your sisters—one was my age, give or take. 

    We had fun: We went to Kroger in your blue Grand Am and bought ice cream. You took me to have dinner at Razoo’s in Sundance Square. You kissed me and we acted silly at Greenbriar Park when a car flashed their lights at us. “Let’s give them a show,” you said. I wanted to buy a yellow truck like the one you parked next to at your apartment. You said girls who drove yellow trucks were hot.

    I felt blessed to have you, this man of God, as my friend. We sat on your floor to watch a movie. As your arm brushed against mine—and then stayed there for a moment, I remember feeling nervous but excited. Did you want to be more than friends? You held my hand. You kissed me. And then you kissed me more. 

    On the floor next to your TV, you were on top of me kissing. You rolled off of me for a moment and propped your head up on your arm. You asked if I was a virgin and I awkwardly said yes. You told me you weren’t, that you lost your virginity when you were 13, but it was a mistake you wouldn’t make again.

    You continued kissing me and your hands wandered all over my body. No boy had ever touched me the way you touched me, or in the places you touched me. And you were no boy. You were a man, almost a decade older than my sixteen years. I was afraid to say no, afraid that I would lose one of my only friends. 

    We met many times over my junior year in high school. And out of nowhere, you ended it.

    You told me you were engaged and getting married later that year to a girl you met overseas. She was coming back to the states in the summer and could never find out about us. 

    That was the moment everything changed. Beyond violating my body, when you told me to never talk to you again, you broke my spirit. 

    The world was no longer safe and even the Godliest of men could not be trusted. I was just a body with breasts and hips and thighs and other things too intimate to name. I felt ashamed of what we did, humiliated in my naïveté. You didn’t care that I was already lost and alone and hurting when I met you. In fact, you took advantage of my vulnerability. I was the least likely person to tell anyone what you did. And although it took some time, you were mistaken.

    When I turned 25 and was mentoring a 16 year old girl, I had a revelation just how inappropriate it was for you to pursue a romantic relationship with a girl who had only recently earned her drivers license. I realized you intentionally and dishonorably harmed me and violated me in the most intimate way. This wasn’t a bad break up: You manipulated me. 

    You sexually abused me.

    I told leaders at the International Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention what you did, and after they investigated it, they determined I was telling the truth. But they let you resign and over the next decade, you were promoted in your career in the SBC. I could never reconcile why they’d let you do that. It didn’t make sense. Now we know that you continued advancing because you were dishonest with everyone about your past. 

    When the #MeToo movement was going viral on social media, I was mostly offline, busy as a new mom, changing diapers and starting nursing school.  As I looked down at my daughter and reflected on an article a friend sent, I thought to myself, “What am I going to tell her when she’s older? How am I going to make the world safer for her?” Surely there was something more I could do. 

    I decided to report you to the authorities and go public with my story, knowing it would be a step to reclaim the truth in this false narrative you directed for so long. Knowing it was a step to put an end to the power of your dishonesty. 

    On July 3, a year ago tomorrow, you were arrested.

    I am grieved your family has experienced such pain because of your actions. However, you also need to know the dramatic and traumatizing way your disregard for me as a woman and as a sister in Christ has affected me.

    Nine years ago, I checked myself in to an inpatient counseling facility. I was diagnosed with complex post-traumatic stress disorder because of what you did to me.

    I wanted to heal: I wanted to be able to not have a panic attack or feel a searing pain between my legs when I had sex. I didn’t want to shake with fear every time I saw a mid-nineties blue Grand Am. I wanted to drive down Highway 360 to visit my parents without getting nauseous when I passed your old apartment. I didn’t want to feel dread driving by Greenbriar Park every time I went to spend time with my grandparents. Even this year as I would visit my dying grandmother, I would see that park. Something as sacred as her final days were cloaked in the shadows of evil from when you sexually abused me.

    During the investigation last year, there were days I couldn’t get out of bed because of my anxiety. Our daughter, who had just taken her first steps, toddled to the bedroom door saying,  “mama, mama” and my husband would redirect her saying, “mama’s sleeping,” even though I wasn’t. I was so exhausted, but yet I couldn’t stop crying. I thought my husband and daughter would be better off without me: a broken, hopeless person.

    Mark: you need to know that what you did to me made me want to kill myself many times. I even tried once a few years ago, but I couldn’t figure out how to work the gun. 

    On Mother’s Day last year, about a month after the investigation started, I headed to Nashville and went to inpatient therapy again because of my suicidality. While I was there, you were coming home from a mission trip, telling people about a fabricated lawsuit you were supposedly settling with me: a woman from your past who was suing you—something, by the way, that has never happened. When you were on your plane home, I was in an ambulance heading to Trauma Bay #2 of Skyline Hospital in Nashville, out of my therapy treatment two weeks early, because of a freak accident. During a game of baseball, someone lost their grip on the bat and it missiled into my jaw, breaking it in four places. I’ve had four surgeries, two bone grafts, plates and screws and braces and implants. My face will never be the same. 

    The cost of this accident and all of the mental health expenses over the last two decades has a price tag of hundreds of thousands of dollars. This is just one more way I’ve suffered because of the abuse, and it will forever affect my family’s financial future.

    When I first wrote this victim statement, I wrote about how I prayed that you were a statistical anomaly. I wrote about how I hoped I was the only person you sexually violated. 

    I have since learned you are not an anomaly. 

    I am not the only woman you took advantage of. 

    Others have come forward in the past few days and shared that you used their vulnerability for your sexual gratification, at times even doing so after you were told to stop. There are hearts everywhere damaged by your refusal to own up to what you’ve done. The truth is exploding out from all the places you have hidden it. You can no longer hide in the duality you live in. 

    Mark, here we are, face to face, 22 years after seeing each other for the last time. My heart is no longer broken. It has been rebuilt by love and faith and those who have helped carry it and patch it over the years.  I never thought I’d see you again, ever, but now I can and I want to look you in the eyes and tell you I forgive you. 

    I forgive you, Mark. For all of the pain, the time I had to spend away from loved ones, the fear of intimacy, and the financial losses. I forgive you for stealing the good I believed about the world and for damaging the image of a perfect and loving God who I still often doubt cares for me or protects me. 

    I forgive you. And my heart aches for the person-the man-you could be if you would just tell the truth and accept the responsibility that comes with it.

    I used to believe that in order for this ordeal to be over, you needed to tell the truth and ask me to forgive you. I know now that’s not the case. This is over because I have spoken the truth. It’s over because I have forgiven you. Your lies have no more power. 

    This is over, Mark. This is the end.

    I do pray, however, that it is a new beginning for you.

    I pray you begin to feel the pulse of conviction pursuing your heart. 

    I pray you begin to immerse yourself in the repentance and forgiveness you have spent your life proclaiming but never fully experiencing. 

    I pray that you begin to choose to live honorably and honestly for yourself and for your family.

    And I pray you will know the holy and saving power of God’s perfect and unconditional love. God loves you so much, Mark. Please ask for the strength and the help you need to be made whole. He does not forsake those he loves. He hasn’t forsaken me. He won’t forsake you either. 

  • A Note to Some Folks: Mark Aderholt Lied to You

    A Note to Some Folks: Mark Aderholt Lied to You

    I’ve been debating writing this post for some time. As news of Mark Aderholt’s resignation and subsequent arrest became public last year, I received emails (and a phone call or two) from people who knew him. Before he was arrested, and I assume when he started to figure out something was going on, he created an entirely false narrative to explain what was happening.

    From my understanding based on multiple sources, around the same time as he went on a mission trip to Hong Kong, he told people in his circles that he pursued a “normal” relationship with a woman (some said he “gave a sanitized version” of the story that came out in the Star-Telegram). That woman was accusing him of things that did not happen and sued him. He then told them that he was finalizing the settlement and the lawsuit would be settled shortly after he returned from his trip.

    This, on all accounts, is completely false.

    • He did not pursue a “normal” relationship with a woman in his past. He pursued a physical/sexual relationship with a 16-year-old girl. And, according to his written personal testimony (which I have seen first hand), he did this while he pursued a courtship with the woman who is now his wife. He met her shortly before he returned to the US in 1996 and said he knew around the time they met that she was the woman he was going to marry. He sexually abused me from September 1996 through April 1997. She returned the summer of 1997 from being overseas and they married in December 1997. They later moved to Hungary to serve with the IMB.
    • The only time I have ever communicated directly with Mark after he was married was in 2006, when I emailed the email address listed on his missionary website. I did this at the suggestion of my (non-licensed) church counselor. The letter was to state the facts of what happened to the best of my memory, let him know that I forgave him, and I think that I was moving on with my life (though I don’t remember for sure on that last part. I know it was what I wrote in my journal about sending the letter). I never got a reply to that.
    • Given that, I have never sued Mark or filed any lawsuit of any kind. I have never written a demand letter. I have never even hired an attorney to explore that or attempt that. The only time I have retained counsel was during my divorce in 2010, to make sure that everything was done by the book relating to my divorce filing, and that alone.
    • As such, there was never a lawsuit, so there was never an attempt to settle or a settlement. His claim of settling a lawsuit is entirely false. I have never sued anyone, though I explored the option to sue Milestones in Tennessee for damages after my jaw was broken in four places as a result of one of their recreational activities. However, for several reasons, I did not sue them. I’ve never, ever sued anyone or settled a lawsuit.
    • I wanted to make this information public because I have no idea how many people he lied to about this. In conversations with various people that knew him, they learned they were also lied to about the reason he returned to the US after he resigned (before he could be terminated) when the IMB determined he abused me and, once again said Mark did not confess to the full truth of the relationship with me. He told people that God very clearly called them back to the US to train missionaries and nothing about the fact that he would no longer be able to serve as an IMB missionary because he was determined to have been credibly accused of sexually abusing a minor.

    I know it’s hard to reconcile Mr. Aderholt’s apparent double life. He did so much good and was well liked by many. I was enamored by his personality when I was a teenager, and I trusted him too. It is my hope that he will decide to come clean and own his dishonesty, apologize and ask forgiveness from those to whom he lied. If you were a person that he lied to, I am truly sorry for whatever pain or loss you experienced. I’m here to answer any questions or provide any documentation you need.

    With sorrow for what’s been lost and hope for restoration and justice for everyone involved,

    Anne Marie Miller

  • Sexual Abuse Survivor Update: Mark Aderholt, International Mission Board & Southern Baptist Convention

    It has been over four months since Mark Aderholt, the man who sexually abused me in 1996 and 1997, when I was 16 years old, was arrested and charged with three felonies: two counts of Indecency with a Child–Sexual Contact and one count of Sexual Assault of a Child under the age of 17.

    This arrest made headlines because the Southern Baptist Convention’s mission arm, the International Mission Board, knew about the abuse, found it to be credible after an internal investigation in 2007, and did not report it to authorities or within the SBC, citing they could potentially face legal issues if they had let Aderholt’s future employers know that he sexually abused a teenager when he was a student at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. That’s why he was able to get a job pastoring in an SBC church two months after he resigned from the IMB, and climbed the ranks into a state convention executive position.

    Even after his arrest, the IMB held defensive ground until their then-president, David Platt, returned from remote Africa and found out about the “extremely disturbing” situation. He and Dr. Russell Moore, president of the SBC’s Ethics and Religious Liberties Commission (ERLC), called to apologize and asked what I wanted them to do. I said I wanted them to open up my case and others to make sure any sexual abuse or misconduct that was criminal was reported to authorities and to make sure there were no other victims during Aderholt’s tenure overseas. Platt went over his public statement to make sure it addressed everything I wished and that night, released it. The following day, SBC president J.D. Greear, who was also aware of the incident, announced the SBC was launching a sexual abuse study group which was funded $250,000 in September.

    I wanted to issue this update to address questions I’ve received since all this happened.

    • Mr. Aderholt will be facing the Tarrant County grand jury very soon–within the next few weeks from what I understand. I am meeting with the ADA and prosecutor for this case this week. If he is indicted, he will have the chance to enter his plea (guilty/not guilty/etc.)
    • I emailed the IMB to get an update and received a reply from the current interim president, Clyde Meador. Mr. Meador was aware of my abuse in 2007 and was one of the people I spoke to from the IMB about it back then. He said I should expect to hear from the third party investigators (I do not know who this group is) in fall. I have yet to hear from them.
    • I have not been contacted by anybody in the SBC about the sexual abuse study group and from what I have been able to see in my brief glances on social media, it appears relatively obscure as far as any actionable details.
    • There have been a few public panels put on by the ERLC and other SBC entities, but unfortunately, I have not seen any true action taking place that is any different than before.
    • I do not see anything new that helps prevent abuse, that is looking into past credible abuse, or that is offering support to known survivors of abuse within the SBC. At a minimum, I absolutely think there should be a fund to help survivors receive trauma-informed therapeutic help.
    • I’ve decided I need to do what I can to help other survivors. I’m writing and self-publishing a book called Healing Together: A Guide for Helping Sexual Abuse Survivors that will be out as soon as I can get it done. I am hoping by the end of the year at the latest. Following me on social media is probably the best way to find out about it if you’re interested. (Twitter, Facebook, Instagram)

    It may appear the SBC has a mountain of a task to climb and in many ways it does; that’s what happens when you allow crime and sin to dirty up under your rugs for so long.

    At the same time, it’s really not that difficult.

    How? They could be in contact with survivors to by writing a short email or a dialing up a quick phone call. Any words of, “How are you? How can we pray? How is your family?” from the powers-that-be who have made promises to reconcile these wounds would actually make a huge difference, at least to me.

    I have communicated my personal wishes and clearly stated that hearing nothing from the SBC would be painful. In a majority of the places where I stated this, those requests have gone unanswered. And as I predicted, the silence is painful. They know and yet they do not act.

    I was hopeful this summer when these big statements were made. That hope, however, has been tempered by silence and relative inaction. In my case, instead of closing the gap of mistrust caused by the SBC, it continues to widen…maybe a bit more slowly now, but the stitches are being torn apart and the wound is still raw and open.

    Lest you think I’m sitting in a puddle of tears, not all is in despair: I am most encouraged and supported by local authorities and law and order. Constant contact, support, sincere inquiries into wellbeing, victim support services, face-to-face meetings, “we want to make this right for you and here is how we are doing it,” and people keeping promises make the criminal side of this ordeal a bit more bearable. Also, a HUGE amount of support from online–other survivors, pastors I don’t know, and people I have met along the way–has also been a great source of encouragement.

    Nursing school is going well and we are excited to be in our new home for the holidays, ending what seems to be a constant stream of moving and rentals. Charlotte is 2 1/2 and it’s a fun and crazy age that has us laughing and crying and sometimes visits to urgent care for big bumps on heads. Tim’s work has been incredibly supportive in giving him time off to even financially assisting with some medical bills. Even a VPs Tim’s company of 10K+ employees pulled me aside once to ask how this case is going and how we are doing—he saw it in the local paper here. I was amazed he put the awkwardness away and asked, “how are you?” and it spoke life into my heart.

    That’s all I have for now. Don’t give up asking for what is owed. Don’t hesitate to report your abuse. Ask for help. And don’t give up hope, but at the same time, learn not to expect it from the places you think it should come from, like the church.

    That’s what I’m learning (again) anyway.

     

    [edit: Need to add this to my post: there are 2 leaders who’ve been constant & supportive of me in this situation: Ed Stetzer and Dr. Russell Moore. I understand many people have many different feelings about lots of issues surrounding them, but they have both been very supportive. Worth noting. I also know they hosted 2 of the panels I have mentioned that I’m happy for, but don’t think they (the panels) do much. However, I want to give credit where credit is due and we have been grateful for their prayers and support on many occasion.]

  • Anne Marie Miller’s Statement on Her Sexual Abuse Story and the International Mission Board Cover Up

    When I signed off my blog in May 2017, I never thought I’d be writing on this platform again. I definitely didn’t expect a year later, in between my daughter’s diaper changes and first steps, I would be meeting with detectives and going back into inpatient trauma treatment.

    I didn’t know I would learn Mark Aderholt, the man who sexually abused me when I was sixteen years old–whom I reported to the International Mission Board in 2007–was not reported to local authorities (contrary to their policy mentioned in a recent statement). I didn’t know I would learn he had an opportunity to resign instead of being terminated (also contrary to their recent statement). The IMB’s General Counsel stated Aderholt was not terminated from his role and was not reported to authorities.

    The collision of learning about Aderholt’s upward mobility and increased responsibility within the SBC, potential access to vulnerable people groups with his travels, and the IMB’s failure to report both to authorities and within the SBC spurred me to make a personally difficult and necessary decision: reporting him to law enforcement.

    Because of the overwhelming evidence of this crime, the Crimes Against Children unit of the Arlington, Texas Police Department quickly accepted, investigated, and when deemed credible, passed the case along to the Tarrant County District Attorney who then issued warrants for this man’s arrest. He was arrested, jailed, and released on bond–all within three months of my original police report.

    If there was one statement I could delete from human language in regard to sexual abuse reporting, it would be, “Why did he/she wait so long to report? Why now?” and I would like to address that in this post.

    • First and foremost, sexual trauma is brutal. The pain, shame, and confusion that happens when someone is violated on a physically intimate and in my case, a spiritual level destroys a person. It is more common than not that people do not immediately recognize or report sexual trauma. There are evidence-based studies that confirm this. To expect an abuse survivor to head over to the police soon after he or she was violated is insensitive, ill-informed, and without compassion.
    • For me, I did not recognize my abuse as abuse until I was my abuser’s age in 2005. When I was serving in student ministry at the age of 25, one night at a coworker’s 25th birthday party, I had a realization of how inappropriate a sexual relationship between a 25-year-old and a 16-year-old is. Serendipitously the following day, I saw a television program on the grooming process most predators use and it mirrored my experience. I was forever changed. The next day, I went to a counselor in my church to discuss it. I still didn’t realize what occurred was an actual crime. She was not well versed in mandatory reporting and did not know she needed to report this either.
    • Two years later in 2007, in my process of healing, I continued to realize the gravity of what happened. My abuser was a missionary overseas with the IMB and when a friend who was a pastor learned of my abuse, he immediately went to the IMB to report it. The IMB conducted an internal investigation after the abuser denied it, and they unanimously determined the abuse happened. They asked me if I wanted to report it to law enforcement. I said I didn’t think I could emotionally handle it. In my mind, if a criminal investigation was anything like the IMB investigation, I knew I couldn’t handle it. They did not ask if they could report it. They inappropriately crossed boundaries with their questions that had nothing to do with why we all were there, which was humiliating. The correct answer is “We’re sorry you don’t feel like you can report it. We have to, regardless. Let us walk you through this and help you with any psychological trauma that may result.” This team was not trauma-informed and the pain that was caused directly and significantly affected my physical and emotional health over the past ten years. After opening my deepest wound, they left me with no care plan or any offer of any help for my activated emotional state. I had one, off-the-record conversation with the IMB psychologist who reassured me it was normal for me to not remember every detail of my abuse—a common trauma response that disturbed me greatly. That was the only tangible psychological care I was offered or received. The financial cost for both physical and mental health treatment has always been a struggle too, and there is no way to seek any relief nor has any financial assistance been offered at any point in time despite knowing of my various hospitalizations. This is contrary to their policy to provide compassionate care to abuse survivors.
    • In my former career as an author and speaker in the evangelical world (2008-2016), I spoke generically but freely about my abuse. It’s mentioned in old blogs, each of my books (though when it was written or spoken about, I changed minor details to protect my abuser’s and the IMB’s identity, at the IMB’s request, and because general publishing rules require it).

    So, while it initially took me almost a decade to recognize it as abuse, immediately after I did, I took action on it.

    I have been speaking about my abuse since 2005.

    It is well documented by the IMB itself that they have known about my abuse since 2007. However, on July 10, 2018, they said: “The IMB learned about the charges against [Aderholt] from the Star-Telegram’s July 9 report.” (Update: They say they specifically meant “the criminal charges” in this instance.)

    They have ignored my question of how can he still serve within the SBC after he was terminated for such a serious thing, and I did not get a response.

    The question isn’t why did I not report it (because I did) but why did the IMB not report it eleven years ago or at any time in the last ten years that I have brought my questions up to them?

    Over the last couple of weeks, as I continued to realize the amount of ignorance in regard to sexual abuse demonstrated by many of those within SBC churches and entities, I saw the power in sharing my story grow more necessary and I could no longer in good conscience keep silent about the inaction of the IMB.

    It is necessary for me to publicly come out with my story because I have been speaking about my abuse for so long, both privately in the IMB investigation and publicly in my past career, the question, “why now?”–although NEVER should apply in any sexual misconduct–definitely does not apply in my story.

    My hope in sharing my story is four-fold:

    • It is my hope that by coming forward publicly, those with similar stories who have felt unheard or who have not felt safe enough to report their abuse can and will come forward and find freedom. It is a freedom that is painful and terrifying to walk into, but it is freedom nonetheless. If you are a survivor of abuse and do not know your next steps, please email me. I could not have walked down this road without support from others who know the law and who have walked down this road in their own life. It’s time for me to pass this on. You are not alone. Please. Email me.
    • It is my hope that by coming forward publicly, the SBC will see that there is a systemic problem and there are intentional efforts to cover up sexual abuse within not only its churches but within its peripheral entities and finally, once and for all, change this. The idol of autonomy within the SBC hurts people and protects the people who hurt them. This cannot happen anymore and because of the well-documented inaction in my case, to argue otherwise is impossible.
    • It is my hope that by coming forward publicly, I am letting the SBC formally know I am personally willing and passionately interested in helping develop systems to create change and am open to that conversation.  I am a woman who is gifted in communication, system development, and I possess a deep understanding of and empathy for abuse survivors. I am hopeful about this, SBC. Reach out to me. Please let me and other people help you. You can no longer hide under autonomous systems that have been proven over time to be inefficient and/or non-existent. You must take responsibility for changing this and the time to do so is now. 
    • Finally, it is my hope that by coming forward publicly, whether you are a survivor, an abuser, the loved one of a survivor or abuser, or simply a bystander to all this, that we all will know the hope, love, freedom, and joy that is found through a saving relationship in Christ. It is through this relationship that I have the hope, love, freedom, and joy that I have and these things fuel each and every imperfect step I take.

    Be kind to others, and gentle with yourself.

    With love and gratitude,

    anne-sig

    Anne Marie Miller

    PLEASE NOTE: This is my formal statement on the reports that have been published today. If there is something that was not answered here that is both appropriate and relevant, please email me at anne@annemariemiller.com. 

    To clarify, my abuse was never violent or forced.

    I may not be able to respond to all emails and I may have a friend assist me in answering, but know your email will be read and I will pray for you if you request. If you need assistance with reporting sexual abuse and don’t know where to go, please email me and I will help you.

    Due to a recent accident, I am having several invasive surgeries this week so I may not be able to respond immediately depending on if I am in surgery/recovery. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

    Also, thank you for your respect for mine and my family’s privacy. It’s still incredibly raw and not easy to speak about, so your grace is appreciated. Please be kind in your responses publicly, and show love to those who show pain or ignorance. Believe the best. It’s the only way we can move forward together.

  • When God Gives You a Miracle

    When God Gives You a Miracle

    I’ve always struggled with faith.

    Not my belief in God (though sometimes, I have).

    But my belief in what God can do.

    And more specifically, what God can do in and through me.

    I’m a pragmatist, even as emotional as I can be. I’m rational. I’m realistic.

    In regard to healing, I’ve seen God heal others of much, and me of much.

    I’ve also seen Him not heal, at least in the way people prayed. (True, they were “healed the other side of heaven,” but sometimes things just don’t make sense on this side.)

    For twenty years, I’ve battled a painful fight with endometriosis, a disorder in which tissue that normally lines the uterus grows outside the uterus. It sounds weird, but essentially once a month, this tissue causes much inflammation, lesions, bleeding, and curl-up-in-a-ball-and-cry kinds of pain. It affects fertility and when it’s happening, I’m essentially useless for two or three days. It hurts to walk. To eat. To watch TV.

    I’ve had surgery to have it removed, but as long as there are hormones in my body, it will always come back. The only true “cure” is a radical hysterectomy, removing all reproductive parts, and staying off estrogen therapy, which causes early, surgical menopause – a much faster, more intense process than the normal “change of life.”

    It would also mean ending any chance Tim and I have of biologically conceiving our own baby, without going to extreme measures.

    Sunday night and into Monday, it felt like a fire was ripping through my abdomen, down my legs, up to my shoulders, into my knees. Tim and I were supposed to go to a movie premiere for a movie about healing, Holy Ghost Reborn​, but thought it would be best if I stayed home instead and he went.

    I started looking for an OBGYN in Iowa to discuss options, including a radical hysterectomy. I fell asleep. I woke up and asked Tim if they had started praying after the movie yet, and if not, if he could go up there to pray with someone about this.

    As my text made it through to him, he was already on his way for prayer.

    A woman named Anne (yep), met him in the front and asked what she could pray for. He explained our situation.

    The other Anne also suffered from endometriosis.

    The other Anne said my faith has made me well (important to note: this was also the passage we studied at church on Sunday, which I shouldn’t have heard because I was supposed to work in the nursery, but someone else really wanted to work in there instead, so I was able to be in the service).

    The other Anne said we’d have many kids (I’m hoping not any more fur babies; two dogs are enough, thanks).

    And when I received the texts from Tim telling me this, I began weeping in bed, still grieving the miscarriages from this year, afraid that it could be true, that I could be healed, afraid that it wasn’t true, that I could not be healed.

    Screen Shot 2015-10-20 at 11.48.17 AM

    Because God doesn’t always heal people like we think.

    Tim got home, told me to put my jeans back on and believe the T-shirt I was wearing. “What t-shirt?” I had dressed for bed in the dark. I looked down and was wearing the “Jesus Loves You” t-shirt Tim’s friend made. We were going to go back to the movie theatre and get more prayer.

    A few minutes later, we pulled in.

    Nobody was there.

    My Doubting Thomas said, “See? see? This healing isn’t for you!”

    Tim calls our pastor, Dan.

    “Can you guys pray over Anne?”

    Ten minutes later, late at night, we arrived at Dan’s house. I waddled in, hunched over in pain, still crying, still confused, still angry, still grieving, and still hopeful. I was honest. I said I don’t believe God always heals, so I should have no right to expect it. I don’t want to get my hopes up and be let down. My faith is already so small.

    Dan and his wife Sarah prayed over us. My body felt numb and I didn’t know why. Pain meds? All the crying and emotions and it was late? An hour later we walked out, exhausted. I went straight to bed when we got home, my eyes swollen and painful from crying.

    I slept through the night, only rising when a dog kicked me in the ribs. My eyes were still sore, but I wandered into the kitchen for some water. Looking out the window, over the bluffs and allowing my eyes adjust to the new light of day, I realized something.

    I felt…different.

    I wasn’t in pain.

    If you know anything about endometriosis, the pain doesn’t just suddenly stop, especially in the middle of an episode. It may lessen or come and go, but it doesn’t stop.

    But more than the lack of pain, something in my heart–that hole that was left by knowing how broken my insides are–the grief that has been weighing on me for most of this year…it was gone.

    It was removed.

    I tiptoed around the apartment getting ready to run to the grocery store, afraid if I made too much noise, somehow the pain, both the physical and emotional pain, would wake up and come back.

    But it didn’t.

    I told friends who were praying for me, fighting for me, waging war in the heavens for me, what happened. I confessed to Sarah my fear that it was surreal, and reality would set in soon. She wrote back:

    “There was an old African village lady God healed in the movie, a witch doctor, but she did not smile. The guy explained that the older generation always had a saying…’don’t smile today because tomorrow you will cry.’

    The pastor that healed her (who had a crazy story) said, ‘I smile today because I don’t care about tomorrow!’ Meaning he was thankful for the miracles today held, and he fully trusted God for whatever tomorrow held. Eventually they got this old lady who had been healed to smile and even dance. It was precious. Enjoy your miracle today!”

    Do I know what will happen tomorrow? At this time next month? In a year? Will I have a baby, or a radical hysterectomy? Will I be sidelined with pain or dancing in new healing?

    I don’t.

    But as my friend Sarah says, I will enjoy my miracle today.

    After I returned from the grocery store, Tim asked how I felt. Being a non-verbal processor, I wasn’t quite sure how to put into words what happened. Honestly? A part of me was afraid to say, “I think I’m healed.” But the words slowly made it out of my mouth.

    He sat in the orange chair across from the sectional, ADD getting the best of him, and while celebrating with me, noticed a weird reflection on our ceiling.

    “What’s that reflection coming from?” I looked up and saw some red.

    “Oh, it’s probably that red bottle on the window sill.”

    He moved it, the reflection didn’t change.

    “Are you kidding me? Look how big it is!” A full array of colors, a rainbow, displayed over me on the ceiling. Tim looked out the window and noticed the sunrise was shining on a No Parking sign down on the street, five floors down.

    The sign was reflecting that rainbow all the way into our apartment window, directly over me, at that very moment.

    “It’s God’s promise to you.” Tim said.

    This does not feel normal to me. It does not feel comfortable. The devil and the angel on my shoulders are still playing a game of tug-of-war. But I have been surrounded by prayer, covered in promises, and so I will walk in faith. I will take up my mat and tell, I will sing, I will dance, and I will smile about what God has done.

    Even if God has given me a miracle only for today, it is a miracle nonetheless.

    And to Him be the glory for the things He has done.

  • To All The Mothers Who Will Never Hold Their Babies on Mother’s Day

    To All The Mothers Who Will Never Hold Their Babies on Mother’s Day

    mothers-day-for-childless-anne-marie-miller

    It’s really quite odd and blessed, the duality of joy and grief.

    A few weeks ago, Tim and I experienced a new type of happiness for us…a new kind of joy. I woke up early on a Wednesday morning with the strong urge to take a pregnancy test, even though I wasn’t late for my cycle.

    Five pregnancy tests later (I may be a little compulsive), we learned we were going to be parents.

    Everything seemed complete and right. We fell in love with the poppy-seed-sized clump of baby whose DNA was being written with each passing day. We celebrated with our friends, our family, our students.

    We met with our fertility doctor and some test results came back uncertain, but not concerning. I needed to start incorporating hormone therapy and that would increase my progesterone, giving the poppy seed a nice home in which to start growing. Within a few days, those levels went up to exactly what they needed to be. My HCG, however, wasn’t climbing as quickly as it should. We were told to watch for pain or symptoms that would indicate we needed to pay closer attention during these very sensitive first months.

    The following Friday night around midnight, I awoke to pain. The pain that says, “Something isn’t right.” Being a classic hypochondriac (and at this moment, by the grace of God, a fairly reasonable one), I forced myself back to sleep telling myself, “It’s probably indigestion. Don’t worry. If you still feel this way in the morning, you can always get it checked out then.” I fell back asleep.

    Saturday morning, the pain was worse. Tim said we needed to go to the hospital, and at this point, I knew something was wrong. However, I procrastinated. I told him, “The longer I just lie here in bed, everything is normal. The moment we get to the hospital, it could all be over.”

    I wasn’t willing to accept this.

    We arrived to the emergency room and said exactly what our fertility doctor said to say. A few blood tests later and the ER doctor walks in, sits down next to me, holds my hand and says, “At this point, it’s clear you have an ectopic pregnancy and you’re starting to miscarry. I’m sorry.”

    He left, and Tim came over and reached around the bed rail, holding me. We both wept at the life inside me that was on its way to being born inside of heaven. We would not get to hold this baby in our arms or put this child to sleep in his or her crib. There would be no diaper blow outs, no baby showers, no ringing in the new year as a family of three.

    The faith that came so easily was hard to grasp hold of as it floated away with our dream.

    We went home, exhausted, making tearful calls to family and a few friends as we were unsure of the next steps. Hours later, our fertility doctor calls and says we need to meet her at the hospital at 7 pm. She needed to remove my left fallopian tube and the 200ccs of blood that drained into my abdomen from my tube’s slow rupture.

    Returning to the emergency room, we saw familiar faces dressed in blue scrubs from that morning, each knowing what happened. With hugs and condolences from strangers, I was given some pain medication and wheeled back to the surgical holding area. Nobody else was having surgery Saturday night (they were probably eating and drinking and being merry), so it was only a matter of minutes before the anesthesiologists and nurses prepared me for my second reproductive surgery in the last year.

    I drifted off into an hour-long sleep, waking up to kind words from a smiling nurse. Tim came in shortly after speaking to our doctor, confirming everything she suspected: the baby implanted in my left fallopian tube, caused it to start rupturing, and our doctor was able to safely remove my tube, and the blood, and I would be fine.

    But define the word, “fine”… would you?

    I stayed in the hospital overnight with Tim next to me. A first-rate medical team insured I was physically comfortable, and messages from friends and family helped ease the emotional pain.

    In some drug-induced blur, I recalled how strange it was that I even took a pregnancy test that Wednesday morning. I had no reason to. I wasn’t late and I didn’t feel “pregnant” (whatever that means). However, if I wouldn’t have taken those tests and seen our fertility doctor, I likely would have written off the cramps I felt as normal cramps and the bleeding I had as a normal cycle.

    I didn’t realize the severity of my symptoms and likely wouldn’t have until I lost so much blood I passed out. But because of that urge to take that first pregnancy test and the relationship we established with our fertility doctor, I was safe and healthy.

    Even though our baby passed away and woke up on the other side of eternity, that doesn’t change the fact that Tim and I are still parents. Before the world was made, God knew this baby would exist. Somehow everything worked together perfectly and this baby formed.

    We were able to be a mom and a dad to this little human for only a few weeks, and life is life, even when it finds itself removed from this earth.

    The peace that wrapped us up before we knew anything was wrong still holds us, in spite of the grief we feel from the loss. Knowing that God knew this child since the beginning of time and knows each of us and has gone before us and sees the plan He has created for us gives us great cause to rejoice as we mourn.

    It’s natural to feel as if two seemingly opposing forces can’t co-exist, like joyfulness and grief. But because they can, and they do, we know it is only because of His grace that miracles like this happen and we experience both joy and grief in their entirety, in chorus.

    I never realized the tension of Mother’s Day when you’ve lost a child; I always heard it, but I didn’t understand. Now, in a poppy-seed-sized way, I do. So, if you are missing your own child, regardless of how or when he or she departed, know you are not alone, and I wish you the most honest of Mother’s Days. Nothing will ever change the fact that you are a mother.

  • Dear Sexual Abuse Survivor

    marydemuth-headshot-squareToday, I am so thrilled to share a guest post from my friend Mary DeMuth. Mary and I met when I worked at Lake Pointe Church in Rockwall, Texas. People knew I was writing and thought it’d be cool for me to meet a real author, so Mary came in and we chatted. She sent me a copy of her book and told me one day, maybe I’d have my book contract. Two years later, I did.

    Beyond writing, Mary and I share a common thread that’s a little more faded, a little thinner. We were both sexually abused. Though our stories differ, our hearts beat the same for helping others know there is hope beyond abuse. We have survived, and you can too.

    Here’s a letter from her to you. Or maybe to someone you know.

    Love, Anne

    (Get Mary’s Book Not Marked as an eBook here and a paperback here.).

    ***

    Dear Sexual Abuse Survivor,

    I don’t really like the word victim. Even survivor has a strange connotation. And I’m not too keen on victor. None of those words encapsulate what happened to you, the devastation sexual abuse enacted on your heart. But we’re strangled by language sometimes–even writers can’t adequately express horror.

    I much like the word BRAVE. Because it’s so darn brave to walk away from something like that. It’s brave to forgive. Brave to live your life in the wake of sexual trauma. Brave to hold your head high.

    First let me say I am sorry. I’m so terribly sad that sexual abuse is part of your story. It’s not right. Someone chose to take something from you–your volition and your body. That person (or people) violated you. They used their power and bully persuasion to overwhelm you with their sinful desires. And now you’re the one left feeling dirty and used–while so many perpetrators walk this earth free. 

    It’s not fair.

    Some of you feel shame and guilt in gigantic measure, heaped upon you. Some of you feel that you invited the abuse. The way you dressed. The hole in your heart that longed for attention. The equating of sex with love and affection. You feel you wooed the perpetrator somehow. Let me say this: A person who adores and loves you would NEVER EVER violate you. Never. Instead of violation, they would protect. They would pray for you. They would honor your boundaries.

    Someone’s selfish gratification is not your fault. Don’t own that. Dare to believe your worth, and allow yourself the feel the grace that God grants you. Forgive yourself. Let yourself off the hook. You were abused. You didn’t want it. Someone took from you–like a thief. They may have used slick words, threatened you, persuaded you that you wanted it, but it’s not true. Thieves are often liars.

    In sexual abuse’s aftermath, you’ve possibly thought of suicide. You’ve cut your skin until the blood came. You over-ate. You spent years hard as rock, bitter as horseradish, always vigilant–ready to fight. You’ve protected your heart with ironclad resolve. No one will EVER hurt you that way again. Not on your watch.

    All these coping strategies had good purpose a long time ago. They protected you. But now they’re strangling the life out of you. I only say that because I’ve walked the path of isolation and withdrawal. Actually, I spent about a decade of my life keeping the sexual abuse secret. And once I let the secret out, I decided I’d been healed, so I tucked it back away for another decade and lived inside myself–not daring to deeply engage my heart.

    An untold story never heals, friend. Isolation only masks the problem.

    That’s not living. It’s existing. It’s pushing stuff down that you hope stays submerged forever.

    Unfortunately, our stories have a way of coming out–almost always in our actions. We end up hurting those we love. Some people become perpetrators because they never deal with getting better.

    I know there are questions. I have them too. 

    • Why did God allow this to happen?
    • Why didn’t He step in and rescue?
    • Why do I have to suffer seemingly forever for something someone else did to me?
    • Why can’t I ever feel normal?
    • Will I ever be able to enjoy sex?
    • Why does my spouse have to suffer for something someone else did to me?
    • What’s wrong with me that I kept being violated?
    • Was I put on this earth to be stolen from?
    • Why am I here?
    • What was it about me that perpetrators found irresistible?
    • Why do other people keep telling me it was a long time ago and I should be over this?

    I want to assure you that these questions are entirely, utterly normal. And you should ask them. You should wrestle with them. Some of them will not be answered this side of eternity.

    When I feel overwhelmed by the whys and the whats, I stop a moment and consider Jesus. This may not resonate with you because you might be mad at Him. That’s okay. I hear you. But there is comfort in knowing Jesus understands.

    He took on the sins of everyone, including sexual sin, upon His holy, undeserving shoulders. He suffered for everyone’s wicked crookedness. And when He hung on a cross, He did so naked. Exposed. Shamed. Humiliated. Bleeding.

    NOT MARKED - FOR AMAZON 3DThat’s why, when I write about sexual abuse recovery, I have to involve Jesus. He has been the single best healer in my journey. He understands. He comes alongside. He “gets” violation.

    Sexual abuse is devastating. It pulls the rug out from under your worth. It keeps you scared. It infiltrates nearly every area of your life, consciously and subconsciously.

    But I am here to let you know there is hope. Though the healing journey is long, it is possible. When I tell my story now, it feels like I’m sharing about another person’s sexual abuse. I’ve experienced profound healing. It didn’t happen passively or quickly. I had to WANT it, pursue it. I had to stop shoving it down and bringing my story into the light–with praying friends, with counselors, with my husband.

    Today I enjoy sex. I can share my story without getting that vomit-y feeling in my stomach. The flashbacks are less and less. I still have moments, of course. But I am so much farther along than I had been.

    I want to end this letter with this truth: You are amazing. You survived something traumatic and horrific. You are reading this letter blessedly alive, connected to others. Your story absolutely matters. Don’t let the trauma steal your story of hope today.

    Joyfully free,

    Mary

    ***

    I’m humbled and grateful to be here today. A huge thank you to Anne for allowing me to share my heart. A little background. I’ve shared my sexual abuse story in the last few years, but I haven’t always been so open. Initially I kept it silent for a decade, then over-shared, then went silent another decade. The healing journey hasn’t been easy, but it has been good.

    About a year ago, I sensed God wanted me to be bold in sharing about sexual abuse. I wrote “The Sexy Wife I Cannot Be” on Deeper Story, which went crazy (so many comments), followed by “I’m Sick of Hearing About Your Smoking Hot Wife” on Christianity Today. The overwhelming response to those two posts prompted me to write Not Marked: Finding Hope and Healing after Sexual Abuse.

    The book proved too risky for publishers, so I decided to crowdfund it, which turned out to be an amazing success. I cannot believe that now I can hold Not Marked in my hands, and also offer it to you. What’s unique about it: It’s written from the perspective of a survivor. It doesn’t offer cliche answers. It’s honest. And my husband shared his unique journey of how to walk a loved one through their sexual abuse.