Women’s Convention

It was a dark and stormy (pause)… morning. A garbage truck was careening through the streets of Eugene, Oregon. It was February 27th, 1971. The garbage truck was being driven by my grandfather, Robert Horning, taking my father Ron, to Sacred Heart Hospital, for my birth. My mother had been in the hospital for almost two days at this point. But apparently, I was early.

When my mother, Patricia, was pregnant with me, she liked to watch a soap opera called The Doctors. One of the actors on that show was named Carolee. Hence, my name.

When I was four, my parents moved to Reedsport, Oregon, after buying the garbage service in town from Clarence Hahn. I grew up here on the coast, first attending Highland Elementary, then W. F. Jewett middle school, and eventually Reedsport High School, home of the Braves. I was an active member of the student body, playing basketball and golf, and I was in band, and graduated on the Honor Society. It appeared as if I was your average young teenager, representing our town well and being an active and attentive student.

But I felt different. Separate.

I had a big secret, and it was a secret that was breaking me apart.

It began when I was 13 years old. My family was very active in our church. I was a leader in the youth group there, babysat younger kids, was a reader, and altar girl, and helped during the pancake breakfasts. The new pastor at first had a difficult time remembering my name, so I wore a swim team jacket that had my name on it to help him out.

I won’t go into a lot of sordid detail. However, suffice it to say, he became close to our family. I’m sure you all know the term “grooming.” That’s what he was doing to my family, and to me. There were camping trips, dinners, golfing, ice cream, trips to the beach, and other adventures.

He sexually abused me for many years, and because he was my pastor, there was a religious component that made everything more confusing, more devastating. There were many layers, kind of like an onion.

After graduating high school, I went to Oregon State University in Corvallis. By that time, I was already starting to go through the motions. I was numb to what I really wanted. I didn’t believe what I wanted or what I needed mattered. I didn’t matter. I was… broken. I was feeling hopeless. I had no self-worth.

I stopped going to church. I stopped participating in things I had loved. I quit playing basketball all together. I gave my guitar away. I even gave away my golf clubs.

After college, I became a restaurant manager, which became a great career for me because it was long hours and frequently no days off. I worked weekends, and holidays. I was a workaholic. It became my coping mechanism. I worked so I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to feel. I wore a mask all day long, not being a real person. I was very unbalanced, and I didn’t care. This went on for years. Decades. I wasn’t living. I was just…here.

And then one day, something changed.

I got a puppy. He was a six-week-old Boxer that we named Rupert. You hear stories about how a dog saved someone’s life, and that was Rupert. When I came home from work, and he’d look at me and wiggle his puppy butt, it touched something in my heart that I didn’t know existed. He also alerted me that the stove burner was left on once, which could have burned the house down, but that’s a different story. With Rupert, I decided I wanted to live.

For the first time in a long time, I had hope. And that’s when I started going to therapy.

I’m going to skip ahead for a moment.

In 2014 I was in a play called “Telling, Adult Survivors of Child Sex Abuse Step into The Light.” There were seven of us cast members, each of us survivors, telling our stories. The play was written by Margie Boule, entwining all our life stories into a brilliant masterpiece, woven with tears, anger, laughter, faith, and even hope. In preparation for this conference, I looked back at the script, because in the final act, we were all asked the question, “What brings you hope?” I could not recall specifically what my answer had been back then.

This is what I said at that time:

“Acceptance. Today I don’t hide from people. I show them who I really am. And their unconditional acceptance, without judgement, gives me hope.”

If I were asked that question today, it would be similar, but with a major tweak. My answer would still be acceptance, but it would be, “Acceptance of myself.” It would be internal rather than external in focus.

I’d like to ask all of you, and shout it out… What brings you hope? (wait for answers)

Thank you for sharing.

Brene Brown is one of my favorite people. I just know if we ever met in person, we could be best friends. (Deliliah, if you have an in, let me know!) If you have never read any of her books, or watched her Ted Talks, or listened to her podcasts, I highly recommend you do. I quote her often to my clients in session. One of the topics that I believe is very relevant to this talk of Hope and Empowerment, is Vulnerability.

Being vulnerable is scary. It takes so much courage to be your authentic self, to tell your truths, feel your feelings, and step out into the light. Brene Brown concluded in her research that the people she found to be the happiest in their lives were those that were the most vulnerable. I think, to truly be vulnerable, you must accept yourself, strengths and weaknesses, scars, and all. You must find internal validation. Many people, especially the clients I work with, trauma survivors, need and look for outside validation. When you need outside validation, you ignore red flags. You look for that little piece of chocolate after the crappy meal because you need it so much to try and feel good. But that is not healthy. It does not bring happiness. When you can validate yourself, when you have that internally, that’s when you are truly healthy and happy. You don’t need others to fill you up. And that is when you can truly be vulnerable, which is so empowering.

In my office, when clients learn to set healthy boundaries, and advocate for themselves, and become their true authentic self, it is so powerful to witness. They are getting their own power back. They are accepting themselves for who they are. And in doing so, they also have found hope where none has existed before. My clients give me hope.

Healing is not linear. When my clients ask, “How did you do it?” I can’t give them one single answer. I can’t give them an A-to-Z list. I can tell them I had some “aha” moments, and I think every person can have an “aha” moment in their life. In that moment, you grasp one thing, which leads to another, and it is like throwing a stone in a pond and having this rippling effect. Maybe you advocate for yourself for the first time or set a boundary with someone. Whatever it is, it is about acceptance. You are finally accepting yourself, and being authentic, which is empowering. You have that internal validation, which raises your self-esteem. And with that, comes hope.

One of my biggest “Aha moments” occurred in a van driving home from the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. We had performed our play Telling at the festival, and one of the cast mates began talking about how horrible her first therapist was. Many could relate. I realized how lucky I was. I had an amazing therapist. I credit her with also saving my life. Sitting there, listening to everyone, I suddenly felt struck by lightning. Yes, this is what I was meant to do! I could become a therapist and help others like I had been helped. I could be a symbol of hope for others. I just knew in that moment; it was my Calling.

At the time I had been working as a part owner and practice manager at a veterinary clinic. But I wasn’t happy. I was making progress. I had been in therapy by that point for a few years. I had confronted my abuser and the institution. I had made some positive changes. But I still wasn’t accepting myself completely, nor did I feel I had agency over my life.

It wasn’t long after that weekend in Ashland that I had a solo trip to the Grand Canyon planned. I had been working six days a week for at least a year at this clinic. And I was also putting a lot of extra time into the play. The owner even told me, “You need a vacation.” So, I planned this road trip by myself to the Grand Canyon. I had everything paid for and reserved, and it was about two weeks before my trip when that same woman came to me and said, “I am buying out this other veterinarian’s practice and I need you to cancel your vacation.”

Before if someone asked me to jump, I’d say “how high?” Especially an authority figure. Due to my abuse, I had believed that I had no power. What I needed and wanted did not matter. But now… things were different. I looked at this woman before me, feeling the turmoil and fear inside of myself, but somehow found my voice. I told her no, and that I was going on this trip.

She was not happy, to put it lightly. In fact, while I was gone, she emailed me almost every day with how upset she was. I did my best to ignore it, but it was taking a toll.

This all became another “aha” moment, however. Saying “No” to her was a personal boundary that I set, which led me to think about what I really wanted. That moment in the van in Ashland kept playing in my head. I just knew, becoming a therapist was my Calling. This feeling of hope swelled inside of me.

My first day back to work after my trip, I told her I was going to be going back to school to become a mental health therapist. I remember my hands were shaking! I was going to work at the clinic part time while in school, but realized it wasn’t best for my mental health. That environment was not one full of hope and empowerment. It was oppressive. Let me tell you, your environment and your community have a lot to do with whether you are healthy or not. So, I worked at Jerry’s Home Improvement Store part time while I went to Northwest Christian University (Now Bushnell) and got my Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling.

Difficult times can make it hard to be hopeful. They can make us feel out of control, weak, powerless, and like we don’t matter. They can make us feel broken.

But you know what else hard times can do? They can make you realize who you really are, what you are made of, and what your purpose is. Becoming a therapist gave me an identity, and a purpose to my pain. And going through those dark times and choosing to do the painful work to come out of the tunnel and into the light also illuminated my true support network. They too give me hope when I need it.

Another part of Brene Brown’s work that I use in sessions is the difference between “fitting in,” and “belonging.” It is human to want to fit in. We all want to be “in the in crowd,” or be popular, and be included. But when we try to fit in, we are changing ourselves to fit someone else’s expectations. We must fit into this box, and do things others want us to do, or be someone we are not. That is not healthy.

Instead of “fitting in” we need to find where we “belong.” When you find where you belong, you are accepted for who you are. It is truly unconditional. But before you can find where you belong, you must belong to yourself.

Do you truly belong to yourself? Are you surrounded by others that respect your boundaries and value you, for you? Are your relationships truly authentic? Do you feel safe being vulnerable with those you love?

I often tell my clients that when you truly get healthy, you will most likely see a lot of your friend group, your support network, change. At least, that’s what happened for me. I found a church family that truly supports me, gives me hope, and grace, and true unconditional love. My biological family respects my boundaries. For the most part, my life now is pretty drama free, and I am content. I have agency in my life. But that didn’t just happen overnight. I had to make it happen, and it took hard work, and many tears. But let me tell you, it was worth it.

One of the biggest blessings in my life is my family. I love them so much, and I know they love me. I hid my abuse from them for thirty years. It wasn’t that I didn’t think they would believe me. Rather, I wanted to protect them. I knew they would blame themselves, and I didn’t want that. Plus, it was ingrained in me to keep it a secret. I was ashamed. I was dirty. I was broken.

But then I started therapy. At first, I didn’t tell anyone I was going. Not even my sister, Lynn, and we lived together. Then one night, another “aha moment,” although this one wasn’t pretty. It was early in my therapy, and Rupert was still a puppy. Lynn and I decided to get a doggy door for the sliding glass door in our house. We went to PetSmart and bought one. When we got home to install it, it didn’t fit. Who knew there were different sizes? We needed an extra-long one, if I recall. I got so angry. I threw it on the floor and was yelling about “why does nothing ever go right for me!” I was cussing. You name it. It was very unlike me. Lynn looked at me and said, “What is wrong with you? It’s just a door. We can go exchange it for another one.”

I realized my anger was not about the door. That morning I had had a very difficult therapy session. It stirred up things inside, and I was just taking it out on that door. Not long after that, I took Lynn out to breakfast and told her I was in therapy.

For a while, I still didn’t tell my parents. There was a time I had vowed never to tell them. But now, I was just preparing myself to have that difficult conversation. Eventually, I called a family meeting and came home to Reedsport.

I’ll never forget that moment. Everyone sat down in the living room. All eyes were on me. Kind of like now!

I told them I was in therapy. My mom, with a broken voice, said she was glad because, “You’ve been so sad for so long.” And here I thought I was hiding it so well!

I had written my abuser a letter before that, confronting him, and he had written me back. I gave them the letters to read. The entire family was supportive, and loving. They believed me. They generously gave me hope.


Some of you may know that one of the things I did for my healing was to confront my abuser, and the church. My abuser admitted to what he did. There was a settlement. Part of my settlement was to have leaders in the church come to my childhood congregation here in Reedsport and apologize to them as well. Because abuse like I suffered does not just affect me. It affected my family, my entire church community, and this town. They agreed to the settlement. It was actually the first time in history of abuse within the church that a survivor received a public apology in this way.

IF you can call it an apology.

This is a quote from that apology. “In March 2011, the Archdiocese first received a report from Carolee Horning that she was involved in an inappropriate relationship with this pastor which began when she was under 18 years of age. The relationship progressed to include sexual behavior.”

I would argue that this was not an “inappropriate relationship.” I would argue that is not a church truly holding themselves accountable for abuse. But I was grateful. I felt like I had my power back. It wasn’t about shaming them. My expectations were not about them. It was about me telling my truth, and shining a light in the darkness, and being a symbol of hope for other survivors.

Many people ask me, and my fellow Telling castmates, about forgiveness. Talking to survivors about forgiveness can be a touchy thing. For some of us, it makes us feel like the empathy and compassion is being taken away from us, where it belongs, and being put on the abuser. It’s another moment of feeling like we don’t matter. That we have no power.

For me, before you can ask, I have forgiven my abuser. Holding onto that pain and anger is only a poison inside of me that only hurts me. I’ve been able to set that all down and move forward. It helped when my therapist reframed it by saying someone like him must have a thinking disorder. He was the broken one. That, I can forgive.

However, I cannot forgive the church. They continue to not hold themselves accountable. They continue to deflect blame. They continue to not make changes. They continue to hurt their members. They continue to take away hope, not being accepting of all, and hold all the power.

After my settlement was complete, my attorney urged me to write a book. For a lot of my years, I had kept a journal. This was especially helpful during my healing journey. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, my journal writings became part of my deposition during the lawsuit and settlement. That’s how my attorney knew about them and why she encouraged me to turn it into a book. It became part of my settlement that there would be no gag order so I could share my writings if I chose. I did end up writing the book, and I know it has helped others. Of course, that is empowering as well. And a lot of my journal writings came from a website called Live Journal. It was basically an online site sort of like Facebook, but it was friends only. Those friends on there also were always supportive and had gently urged me into therapy. These virtual strangers knew before my family because it was easier to tell them, than hurt the ones I loved. But I was hurting myself more by keeping in the secret and the pain. If you are doing something to your own detriment, it may not be the healthiest choice.

As a mental health therapist, I hear daily how hopeless and powerless people feel. When it comes to childhood sexual abuse alone, 1 out of 3 girls and 1 out of 5 boys are sexually abused. (Look around at the audience.) I’d wager half of you.

Imagine how life could be if we could eliminate just that trauma? I believe many issues of today would cease to exist if we could end childhood sexual abuse, such as repeating those cycles of abuse, drug and alcohol addiction, domestic abuse, and homelessness. Those unhealthy coping mechanisms are symbols of hopelessness and powerlessness.

When I first graduated, I got my first therapist job at an agency in Cottage Grove, Oregon, called South Lane Mental Health. There I worked with a lot of clients on the fringe. I also worked in the Emergency Department at Peace Health doing assessments for any suicidal or mental health patients and placing them in a Behavioral Health Unit if necessary. But one of the proudest things I did there was begin a group for women with PTSD from trauma. It was a group that gives them hope and helps them find their self-worth by teaching how to set and maintain boundaries, teaching them balance and self-care, meditation techniques to decrease anxiety, and how they are not alone. It became the most popular group at the agency.

I’ve also been trained in EMDR, which stands for Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing. It’s highly effective in treating clients that have experienced trauma and have flashbacks or intense memories. It targets four areas. The first is the negative cognition we have about ourselves when we have experienced something bad. Examples of this could be, “I’m not worthy,” “I’m bad,” “I’m broken,” “I don’t deserve love,” etc. The second area is the negative emotion that permeates everything: Fear, Anger, Guilt, Profound Sadness.


The third area is what we call “a body scan.” We hold stress and trauma in our bodies. I carry mine in my neck and shoulders, often clients express a tightness in their chest, stomach aches, etc. And lastly, we identify the most disturbing triggers.

With EMDR, we are replicating REM sleep. That’s the time of sleep when our eyes move back and forth, which is also when our brains are processing. It is when we dream.

Trauma is stored in our Amygdala. It’s the part of our brain that controls “flight, fight, freeze, or fawn.” It wants to keep us safe. It is also the first part of our brain that is formed when we are in uterus. If a woman is pregnant, and has a fright, that can go right to the baby Amygdala and he or she can be already born wired for anxiety. Our cognitive centers form later. That’s why it takes time to crawl, and walk, and talk. That part of our brain is actually not fully formed until we are about 24 or 25. Before that, a lot of our decision making is based on emotions from our Amygdala, and not always rational or with true thought.

The Amygdala and the cognitive center also are not usually fired up at the same time. For example, if you are having a panic attack, on a brain scan you would see your Amygdala in the red zone, fired up, and your cognitive center is offline. That is why we say, “I was scared stiff,” because that part of your brain is actually not working, and you can’t move. That is one of the reasons therapists teach mindfulness, having the client bring themselves into the present moment by spelling or identifying colors or sounds. That turns the cognitive center on and decreases the Amygdala’s power.
With EMDR, because of the eye movement and being awake, we make both sides of our brain talk to each other and it can actually heal itself.

When I was in therapy, I didn’t have a therapist that practiced EMDR. However, during my training, I had to be a client as well as the therapist. To illustrate how EMDR can work, I’ll use my case as an example.

When I was around six years old, I was staying at my aunt and uncle’s house out of town. My cousin had just been born. Not everything is clear, as memories go, but something happened then that bothered me most of my life. I didn’t use my abuse in my training because of various factors. I guess you could say this was “a minor” trauma in comparison, but I felt safer using it.

Anyway, I was six, and my baby cousin was there. He was one of those perfect babies that never cried, was always giggling, etc. I was in the living room playing, as was he. I think he was in his baby swing. I’m sure my sister Laura was around somewhere but I don’t remember where she was, and my other sister, Lynn, had not even been thought of yet.

So, I’m in the living room playing with my cousin. My uncle and aunt are in the kitchen probably making dinner or something. My baby cousin starts to scream. Like, crying bloody murder. Remember, he never cries. My uncle came running in, and he began shouting at me. “What did you do? You must have hurt him! He never cries like this!” I knew I hadn’t done a thing. After that, I was always a little scared of my uncle, especially when his voice got loud. Also, I could be 30 years old in a parking lot, and hear a baby cry, and suddenly I was six again, shaking inside. That memory was always floating around in my head. My negative cognition was “It’s my fault.” On a scale of 0 to 10, it was on average an 8. My negative emotion was guilt, and on a daily basis on a scale of 0 to 10, it was a 10.

Fast forward to after EMDR. Now, I only think of that memory when I’m explaining EMDR. I can hear a baby cry, and I think nothing of it. I’m 51 now, never 6. And I also gained a perspective that seems so obvious now, but when trauma happens to you, it’s not like that. Now, I realize that moment really had nothing to do with me. This was my uncle’s first-born son. He was scared and didn’t know what had happened. His emotions got the best of him, and he took that out on me. I was just there. My full brain finally made that connection, which stopped the triggering effects.

EMDR has given clients a lot of hope. Talk therapy, for many, can only go so far. I’ve had clients tell me they’ve done therapy for 20 years, and EMDR is the first thing that has actually helped them. That is pretty powerful.

Last year I left South Lane Mental Health and now I have my own private practice. I love to go to work every day. I love my clients. My days are filled with hope. Yes, there is sometimes pain, and tears, and even despair. But I know I’m doing what I was meant to do.

Ultimately, it comes down to making choices. I once saw this meme on Facebook that said something like, “Just because the universe hands you a cactus, that doesn’t mean you have to sit on it.” Whenever Lynn or I are being negative, we tell the other one, “Hey, quit sitting on the cactus!”

Hope and empowerment are not easy to come by, but they are a choice. You can do it. You can make better choices for yourself. I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s the opposite of easy. But you can do it. It takes real intent. If I can do it, anyone can do it.

If that pastor hadn’t come to Reedsport when I was 13, where would I be now? What would I be doing? You know, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is now, in this moment.

At the end of every performance of Telling, we in the cast sat in a semi-circle on the stage and answered questions from the audience about our stories. That’s what I would like to do now. You can ask me anything, but I have the power to not answer if I wish. And this is a chance for you to be vulnerable and be accepted. You can give someone else hope.