You probably recognize this photo, as the picture on the cover of "Brave and Unbroken."   The picture represents so much of my childhood in one shot.  That is me around 2/2.5.  This is the living room of the house that we lived in while stationed in Texas.  Next to me on the left is a play phone, representing the child in me as well as the wind up radio - I had a lot of fun with those toys.  I loved to play telephone and tell stories, pretending that I was talking to my mom on the other end of the line.  I would wind up the radio and my mom and I had dance parties around the house.

The legs that you see to my right, are my abusers'. My biological father that admitted to sexually abusing me from the time I was an infant.  He was a smoker, he was inconsiderate and controlling.  When it came to his smoking, he smoked any where he chose, he didn't care who was around.  He would smoke cigarette after cigarette.  Ashes would fall of and go everywhere and it never seem to phase him. 

He was a groomer. He was grooming me for his sexual pleasure. He would play some of these games with me - then he would get to where he wouldn't and he would watch me beg him for his attention and for him to play with me.  From an early age, he would make me feel important and joke with me as though I was a lot older.  His jokes were as though he was talking to an adult, he would tell me how much he loved me and what my jobs were to keep the family together, as early as 4 years old I remember him saying those things.

His legs, in this photo, represent his physical presence everywhere I was.  He was always present, besides work. As I got older he would stalk me where ever I was.  Watching me at all my extra curricular activities, watching me from across the street during recess at school and always making sure that I was aware he was there or had been there. He would watch my every move.  I still don't know how he could miss work to come and stalk me all the time.

This photo represents my childhood being ripped away from, it represents the grooming pedophiles are so good at, it represents the silent violence that occurred day after day between the walls in which we lived. My fake smile trying to keep every one on the outside in the dark and everyone on the inside protected.

One in ten children are being abused. They are being abused by parents, grand parents, siblings other relatives, close friends and other children...we as adults have to stop the cycle and prevent child abuse.

We need to preventing the children from being thrown into the river, we need to move upstream and educated and stop the children from being pulled in.  That is our responsibility...being abused is not the child's fault. EVER.  

Guilt and shame is a real struggle for those of us that have been sexually abused.  No one wants to hear the details.  Everyone wants to victim shame and time and time again victims are asked what they did for the abuse to happen.

Children aren't asking nor have they asked to be abused.  I guaranteer my infant self - weeks old - didn't asked to be sexually manipulated by my biological father.

We must step up, do the hard things and stop child sexual abuse.

www.braveandunbroken.com
Stewards of Children Training - 8/21/18, 6-8p, Puyallup City Library, $10, Adults Only

The time has come to stand tall and Be LOUD.

xo
​pennie

My life is a bit messy - seems to have always had some bit of messiness.  I was thinking about social media today and how there are so many wondering things happening in people's lives.  That makes me happy. I know for me - most of the time I share the happy times, the fun pictures, the best moments - but in reality life isn't always peaches and cream.  

Like the time that I was in 8th grade and I had written in my girls bible study workbook that I wanted to end my life.  It was a hard time, I don't know that I would have ended my life, didn't know if I could actually follow through or not.  But it felt better to write it down.  My life was nothing but messy secrets.  It was full of masks...each day or moment, depending on what I was going to be doing or who I was going to be with, I would decide which version of me to take out.  

That day - I wrote that I wanted to take my life, I could imagine that ending the spinning in my head - would sure be nice.  I couldn't see any way out of it, except for something drastic.  The few hints I droped a couple people didn't trigger anyone to ask or to check more into my questions - and so I was alone in my own little world and in my head once again.

The day that I wrote those words, the announcement came over the intercom, during Ms. Henry's class. She was a strong, powerful woman of color and she was a woman that I thought very highly of.  "Ms. Henry please send Pennie Delosh to the office, her mother is here." 

My heart started to race, my mother never came to school, there were no appointments planned, no special events and I knew I never missed school for anything fun...so this couldn't be good.  Ms. Henry asked me to grab my things and head to the office. I did just that.

There stood my mother - 4'10" tall, fire red hair, pale skin and a look on her face as though she had lost her best friend.  She called me over to follow her out of the office and come be out of earshot of others in the hallway.  There she stood.  The grip of her hand on my arm was tight, she was holding my bible study workbook in her hand.  My heart sunk.  I never wanted her to know what I wrote.  I protect my mom, that was my job.  Do everything in my power to assure she doesn't ever experience any pain or hurt. 

My mind raced, what was she going to say, what was she going to do, that is when I noticed the tears streaming down her face.  She was expressing her hurt, anger and pain.  I played it off a bit, told her what she wanted to hear.  I was fine, wasn't going to do anything and that I was just seeking attention.  My mind raced, if I told her the truth, that my father was coming in my room nightly and raping me...that he was grooming me day after day to be his sex slave - to 
keep my family together,"she would be devastated.  She thought my writing these thoughts were bad, I could only imagine what would happen if she knew the truth.

The truth of the matter is - messy is real.  That is me...real and messy.  Abuse, my mother's cancer battle...climbing the corporate ladder as a woman and with only an associates degree...messy is the only word for it.  It's not been easy like many others.

Most of us have some messy - find your tribe - be truthful, honest and vulnerable...sharing your truth allows for others to find the space to share their truth. And the cycle begins...we all become truth tellers - sharing and asking for help and love and care and concern.  Truth tellers - voices - that is my wish for us all.  

Join me, won't you?
-xoxo pennie

​

This weekend I had the privilege of sharing Brave and Unbroken with many of you.  I feel completely overwhelmed.  I have received many messages since the weekend regarding the book and the message of Brave and Unbroken.  My eyes tear up as I think about it and my heart races.  Nothing compares to the feeling of knowing my vision of Brave and Unbroken, is actually doing what I hoped.

When taking on a project like Brave and Unbroken, I knew I was putting my story into the world and wouldn’t ever be able to take it back.  I have shared my background and experiences at a very high level for many years, but this memoir shares details that most have no idea about.

Growing in a home of abuse forces you to never share the real you, your true authentic self.  Being sexually abused by your father forces you to constantly scan the horizon and assure you are protecting everyone around you and you are always putting yourself to the side.  Never did I think this day would come, the day when the courage to stand tall and put my life into the universe, would come.  Never did I think I would be able to muster the courage or the voice to share the truth of my soul, the truth of a child whose childhood was stolen.
​
I have told everyone that has asked what the purpose of this memoir is, the purpose was simply this – to help one survivor, somewhere, find the ability to speak their truth.  Not to scream it loud, but to share with someone else.  Healing occurs when one can share their truth with even one person. That is what Brave and Unbroken is all about.
Someone recently told me, “but I am broken.” No you aren’t.  Your childhood was taken from you without your permission.  You are Unbroken and no matter what – your voice will find its way out.  Your strength and courage is deep inside of you. You are not alone.  I see you, I hear you, and I acknowledge you and your truth.
“Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option.”
 
Xo
Pennie

I turned 45 this past Sunday, and I now know that I can say, with the utmost certainty, I feel comfortable in my skin.

Since I was 16 I have colored my hair. Genetics are a crazy thing and gray hair started showing up at 16. I worried about being seen older than I really was and wanted to make sure my hair stayed young looking. My hair was also something I could control, in a world where I had very limited control.

Over the past 6 months I have become more lax with my hair, to the point a few months ago I went completely gray. Then I was bored with it, so I decided to go a salon. Rather than all over color, we used my gray and accentuated some fun colors.

The red highlights to my gray were for fun, I have no reason to hide the natural color of my hair, I have had people ask me where I had the gray done and how much it cost me!!

It has taken me a long time, but I am finally there, fully 100%, comfortable in my own skin. I have been criticized, chastised, belittled about my weight, my hair, my voice, who I am...I am over it.  As Brené Brown says...

"If you’re not in the arena also getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.
If you have constructive criticism you want to give me, I want it.
But if you’re in the cheap seats, not putting yourself on the line, and just talking about how I can do it better, I’m not interested in your feeback."

There is a small list of people that I care what they think, but for the rest - don't throw tomatoes from the stands - come directly down to the arena and look me in the eyes - then we will talk.

Today, a guy on the streets of Bellingham said, “Hey girl with the candy cane hair,” I turned to see who he was talking to, he stops to look at me directly, “you look great in your new car.”

Girl with candy cane hair, I finally made it...cheers to the next 45+.

Dig deep and find your “girl with the candy cane hair.”

xoxo

-p

When you saw the title of this blog post, or the picture associated, what did you think?  What did you feel?  Did you want to open it up or did you want to go by the blog and move on?

​I have been working on a memoir.  As I hung up from finalizing the cover to my upcoming memoir, my son asked a question, that caught me off guard.  He reviewed the cover and then he asked, "Are you writing this book to sell or are you writing this book to help people?" I thought about his question for several moments before answering.

I said, I am hoping to help people, but if I could sell a few books along the way, that would be great too.  He said, "Well you might help some people, but no one will buy it with that word on the cover." I couldn't imagine what he meant.  That I asked what word he meant, he quickly replied, "Incest."  He spoke the word with caution, with almost a whisper.  It was just the two of us in the entire house.  I wasn't sure why he was so cautious and quiet.  

Then he explained that people do not like the word "Incest."  He informed me that the word is taboo and that it makes people uncomfortable.  He felt that I needed to change the word so that I could sell books.  I thought a few moments before responding. I realized in that moment, that my 18 year old, who doesn't watch the news much, was sharing with me what I am bothered most by our society...and he is right.  

We don't talk about incest.  My son thought most people thinks it means sex between cousins.  The official definition is the crime of having sexual intercourse with a parent, child, sibling or grandchild. (dictionary.com).  This is what my childhood was "INCEST"- yes all capital letters.  Its real, it happens and he is right, we do not discuss in our society.  

That is one of the greatest taboos, we don't talk about child sexual abuse (CSA), we don't deal with it and we don't hear from it.  Or in other words that are many that don't and can't.  The more voices we hear, the braver we become.

One of the reasons that the #MeToo movement frustrated me.  We tried to partner with #MeToo, but the reality is that people who are coming forward with me too, aren't necessarily survivors of child sexual abuse (CSA).  We are in the dark, we are in the shadows, we aren't seen and we are barely heard...solely because the topic is hard and the conversations are harder.  I ask people all the time, when they want to talk about my abuse, are they sure that they want to hear all the details.  One reporter asked why I ask that question.  

It's simple, the details are unfathomable by the human mind.  No one can understand why and how and who would do such things and its harder to believe if the perpetrator is someone they know, a person in the military, someone of authority, family and so forth.  

"Do you know how lucky you are?"  This is actually what a police officer said to me, when they arrived at my mother's home, the day that my mother called them to say that we had been sexually abused by our biological father.  I remember saying to him, "You call this lucky?"  He went on to explain that most mothers DO NOT stand by their chidlren.  They don't believe their children or they don't want to go against the man (father, step, boyfriend so forth).  Most would rather keep the man/woman rather than turn them in.  He also said, that most human beings won't believe our story of abuse or that our US Army Officer father could have done any of this to us. That incest isn't talked about and people would much rather turn a blind eye.

My son brought that all home for me that night.  The reality is that I may not sell many books with INCEST on the cover. I told my son that night, that I haven't really ever cared what people thin and I am not going to start now.  The time has come to start talking about it.  The time has come that children are heard and believed.  The time has come for my mother's reaction and proactivity to be the norm and not the exception.  The time has come that incest isn't taboo, but that it is something that we hear and discuss and listen and believe.  

As we start out April 2018, Child Abuse Prevention month - the time has come to hear the voices, help those that haven't found their voice - to find their voice and the time has come to be different and start changing by starting to talk, hear and listen.  The time has come that we survivors of child sexual abuse don't feel tarnished and shuned, but that we are tall and heard.  Its time for our voices to ring loud!

Please - hear, see and listen - victims and survivors need us to change the world. #BeLoudCSA
xoxo 

"Being quiet and hidden is no longer an option." - pennie saum

My grandmother says all the time "we are blessed."  There are many times I agree with her and some that I don't.  Four years ago, today, was one of the times, I just couldn't completely agree.  My mom was at the end of her 9 month battle with lung cancer.  After months of chemo and radiation, infections, multiple pic lines, hospital stays and transfusions...she finally crossed the finish line.  It wasn't a win that I wanted to celebrate, but it was a win nonetheless.  My mom had everything to live for and fought hard and received treatment clear till we brought her home on hospice.  

Her final weeks she rode in an ambulance every day, in excruciating pain, 2 blocks from the hospital for radiation.  Her one last hope, that she may fight the disease that taking over her body.  Her perseverance showed time and time again, how much she truly felt she had to live for, her children and her grandchildren.  The same motivation that enabled her to endure so many horrific things through her lifetime.

I get asked time and time again, "how did your mother not know?' So to that I share with you one of my posts from a while ago.  "Ode to My Mother."

I will never forget when the officer showed up at the house to take our first statements regarding our abuser (biological father) and the abuse we had survived, "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"  I remember thinking that if this is called lucky I would surely hate to see what bad luck looked like. But what he meant that day was that - our mother called the police, she confronted the abuser as soon as she found out and she was standing by our sides holding us up.  This wasn't the norm, it was often that the mother would turn a blind eye and side with the abuser, father, boyfriend or whomever that may be.  A mother standing beside her children was unusual.  This officer made sure that we were very aware of how unusual this was.

And so I present to you my post "Ode to My Mother," Mother's Day 2011.  Thank you. Thank you for your support, your love and your continued awakening. The time is now.

Ode To My Mother....5/11/2011
The topic on my heart tonight is my MOTHER.  Yep....what an amazing woman.  She has been through hell and back.  To live in the house with my abusive biological father, to do everything that she could to protect her children, to be the best Mother in the world, to be there no matter what, even to this day.  To be the best Grandmother on the planet.  She is so full of love.

OK WAIT, your saying...go ahead...what are you thinking....how could 2 children be abused in a home and the Mother not know it's simple SHE WAS ABUSED TOO!!  If you have been reading my blog you know that I didn't know my brother was being abused or that my Mother was being abused.  My brother didn't know I was being abused or that my Mother was abused and my Mother had no idea that he was abusing the 2 of us.  The one common theme for the 3 of us, is that we thought by taking the abuse ourselves no-one and I mean no-one would suffer.  BOY WERE WE WRONG.

I will never forget that fateful night when my mother called me home from work, telling me that my brother had been abused by my biological father was abusing my brother.  My brother had taken the car (no license) and gotten home too late, by the time he got home, my mother was already home from work.  There she wait for him.  She made a comment that if my brother didn't shape up he would have to go live with my father, and all hell broke loose.  They were seperated at the time and the threat of the possiblity that my brother would have to go live with this monster sent my brother over the edge.

He began to talk to tell my mother all the terrible things that had been done to him and he continued to fill her on all the things that this terrible man had done to him.  She was in complete shock.  She called me I came straight home and my brother began to fill me in as well.  I was fuming mad.  I always thought if I had a sister that this would be the case, but not a brother.  Then I couldn't bring myself to tell her he had similar to me for all these years.  She was devasted.  Like someone had tore her heart out of her chest and put it back. He was so manipulative, calculated,etc.....he had us all convinced that we couldn't talk about it or we wouldn't see eachother again, let's just say he was good at what he did.

SO needless to say over the next 3 days everything came out, the police came for interviews etc.  The only thing to this day she always said she was trying to protect us from everything....but couldn't protect her children from the inside.  She was remarkable.  Unlike a lot of mother's that go through this, my mother stood by our side.  Even the lawyers, judges, counselors, etc said that we were very luck that most mother's stand by the man, father, etc...never ever do they stand by the side of the kids.  Can you imagine a mother not supporting their children??  I was in such shock.  My mother has always been so devoted to us, can't imagine a parent not standing by their kids.

Happens more time than not I have learned.

So -- tonight's blog is dedicated to a mother that loves and cherishes her children, that is totally dedicated to them and feels so terribly guilty all of these and still about what happened.  But you know what KUDOS to my mom for taking action and making a different in tow kids's lives....THANK YOU MOTHER FOR STEPPING UP AND SAVING US.  We love you.

Love to all, praying for lives to be changed.
​

I have always been fascinated by religions. I love talking to people about their beliefs, their whys and am passionate about learning how others tick.  

I grew up in a family that had a lot going on behind the door, but the outward version of my family was pretty normal. I played sports, went to slumber parties, was in Girl Scouts, went to youth group and Sunday school. It was always required to go to Sunday school, and honestly there was a lot of fun to be had. 

I played in the church bell choir, I was an acolyte (lighting candles and other pre-service duties), went on a "choir tour" with my youth group and would attend Sunday services with my family. At a young age into my teens I went to church to be with my friends.  Social time was important.  I could hang out with my friends at all the different church things I did each week.  As the years went on I was learning about the bible, what was expected of me and believing all that was put in front of me. I felt very torn, as my brain tormented over the outward version of myself and the hidden person I had to be. I wondered if God saw what was going on, I wondered if my prayers were being heard. 

As the years went on my family went to several churches.  The abuse came out in 1993 and my abuser was sentenced in 1994. I struggled with the idea of him being forgiven and given the same opportunities as me.  I heard of his thinking he had done nothing wrong and being kicked out of treatment and labeled as the pedophile that wasn't amenable to treatment.  

I was married, had kids and put them in a private christian school. I was plugged into a church, volunteered for both the church body and for the children's ministry.  But the mental anguish over my "Christianity" and my past continued to eat away at me.  How could an all-knowing good God allow for a child to be raped, molested, sodomized, emotionally and physically abused over and over and over again.  How is that possible? I grappled with this idea for many many years.

Then came time for his prison release.  I filed for a lifetime restraining order and the reality set in that he would be out in society, doing as he pleases.  At the hearing, for the protection order, he had two "pastors" write letters on his behalf from the prison.  They stated how my abuser had made amends for his choices, how God had forgave him, and that there shouldn't be a restraining order upon him. That he wasn't a violent man and that he deserves to live his life.

The commissioner read my abusers statement.  He said how happy he was to be a grandfather and how he wanted nothing more than the family to come back together.  He hadn't done anything wrong and that he wasn't violent. That God had forgiven him and that he was walking in path of the Lord.

Again I cringed.  I was glad the Commissioner saw through the statements and granted the lifetime restraining order for myself and my children. But what resonated with me was the statements of forgiveness and how he should be able to go on about his life and have his family back.  

He made a choice.  His choices of abuse, made him lose his family forever. There was no question.  There is nothing that he can do or say to take back what he did.  I have heard it all, "Of course he's forgiven in the eyes of God." "God only gives you what you can handle." The list goes on.  

All of this writing to say, faith, I have it.  What is my faith in? Good question.  I believe that there is something bigger, I believe that I am who I am today, because of what I have been through in my 45 years on this planet. I believe and have faith in LOVE, for all people.  I have faith in strength and community.  I have faith in people.  I believe that we can come together and do things that no other species can do.  I believe in the wonder of life. 

I don't know where all of my faith comes from.  I have gone away from the church and back again and away again. I have been with God to go away from God and around and around.  Although I can't put a name on my faith or tie my faith to anyone thing - I will say that I believe we belong to each other and there there is no such thing as other people's children.  

So as I hear of people being treated unfairly, people being shunned by beliefs, people being judged because of who they love, people battling hate and discrimination - I hope and dream and wish and pray for LOVE and acceptance. For those that love and accept unconditionally, those people, impact their families, their communities, their cities, states, nations - those people become the people everyone wants to be with and around.  Those are the people impacting the world - being the change - movers and shakers.

I challenge us all to open our eyes and our hearts - and truly feel love. Teach love.  Be love.

"Being silent and hidden is no longer an option." -pennie saum

Today is my little brother's birthday.  I remember when he was born, I was taken to North Carolina from Maryland for a bit, while my mom had him and came home to recover.  His birth was less than easy. The cord wrapped around his neck.  My mom was a petite woman. After a c-section and the challenges of his birth,  all seemed right with the world.  

I was brought back home, after some recovery time.  I was so excited to have a little brother I couldn't wait to be a big sister and help out in whatever I could.  I remember vaguely some of the fun times around 1977.  Mainly focused around the new baby.  But there was another side to those times.  There was touching and fondling, there was emotional abuse and there were games.  

As the years went on I truly believed that if I did what I was told, by my abuser, that my little brother would be safe.  I played along, did what I was told and asked of me.  I would remind myself constantly to keep things to myself, that this was one of those times that they meant by, "What happens in our house, stays in our house."  What a detrimental statement.  

The years went on the abuse continued, the occurrences of sexual acts increased, the comments and touching were always there.  In my young mind, I took on the role of protector.  He would remind me that I was keeping the family together, that my participation with him fulfilled what he was missing and that nothing would happen to our family, my mother or my brother.  I truly thought I was protecting them.  I bared it, I bared it all.

I would learn, on that fateful day in 1993, that my protecting did nothing. If anything it hurt those that I loved the most, my mother and brother.  My brother was brave that day.  He found his voice. He spoke of the abuse, of the holes in the bathroom door, the beatings, the porn and the list went on.

We both endured horrendous heinous acts, at the hand of our father, our abuser.  My mother also was emotionally abused.  My protection did nothing, but protect the abuser.  

Protecting has been a long practice that I have continued.  Only to learn the devastating effects that trying to protect those you love, can cause.  I am hear to tell you that authenticity and truth is the only true life practice.  Silence in honor of protecting those you love, silence in honor of protecting your image or your reputation, SILENCE does nothing.  

Of course as a child I only knew what I was hearing day in and day out.  I didn't know what the reality was, I was living in a different reality, a reality that existed within four walls and a door that would only open every now and then.  These were lessons I learned as a child.  Silence in the name of protection. 

Now also 45 years later - truth, voices and authenticity - the ONLY way to be.
"The time came where being silent and hidden was no longer an option." 

My hope for each of you is you will find your voice deep inside your strength.

xo - pennie