Who Stole My Identity? The Real Issue Behind Homosexuality

debragauthier Uncategorized

In my early teens I began to struggle with my sexuality. I wanted nothing to do with boys; in fact, I wanted to be one! I grew up in a military family, the oldest of four children. My dad was in the Air Force so we lived on base where I spent hours playing army with the neighborhood boys. We had this huge oak tree in our backyard that had a branch long enough it reached the neighbor’s house. When I climbed the tree I would get on that branch and drop down onto the roof so I could jump off, pretending to be a paratrooper. I can’t tell you how many times I got in trouble for my army adventures, but it never discouraged me.

In spite of my desire to be one of the boys, I never felt comfortable around them, which stemmed from an incident that happened when I was ten years old. My dad had gone off to Vietnam, and when he returned he was a different person. He began to drink heavily and abuse my mom. One night my dad came home late from work, drunk as usual. I could hear my parents yelling and screaming as dishes crashed against a wall, and suddenly there was a deadening silence.

After comforting my siblings who had jumped into bed with me, terrorized by the violent fighting, I got out of bed and walked down the hall toward the light in the kitchen. When I looked around the corner I was horrified to see my 6’2” dad crouched over my 5’2” mom, choking the life out of her. Her eyes were bulging and her lips and fingernails were blue and I knew I had to do something quickly. So I ran to the stove, grabbed a heavy skillet, and swung with all my strength, hitting my dad on the back of the head. It stunned him and he released my mom, only to turn that drunken rage toward his daughter, knocking me unconscious.

Mydad

That night our life dramatically changed when my mom piled four kids into her car and we ran away from home. The trauma I experienced at the hands of my dad and the hatred toward my own gender who I saw as weak opened the door to the thief that would steal my identity as a woman. When I got older I became a target of abuse and discrimination by men in my career, which only perpetuated the fear, and I made a vow to never let a man near me. It was then I began to look toward my own gender for comfort.

I had my first sexual experience with a woman while in college, and lived most of my adult life in the homosexual lifestyle, believing I was born that way. It had never occurred to me that the doubts I was having about my sexuality were the result of fiery darts launched at me by an invisible enemy who was out to steal my identity and my destiny. The battle was occurring in my mind and as I began to believe the lies that I was born gay, I built a stronghold in my mind in order to justify my behavior and keep the pain out. It has been an eighteen-year journey coming out of the deception and being restored by my Creator. So as you navigate this issue in our culture, please remember that there is another side to what you are hearing and to be open to hearing it.

(Full story in chapter 13 Who Am I? of Bright Lights, Dark Places)

Living Fearlessly in a Dangerous World

debragauthier Event Announcement

While working as a patrol officer in Las Vegas assigned to an area in close proximity to the Strip, we experienced a series of violent sexual assaults.  The suspect, described as a Cuban male, would stalk the women who were getting off the night shift at the hotels.  As they walked up to their apartment putting the key in the door, the suspect would rush up, pushing the woman inside, and violently assault her.  This occurred week after week, and it was frustrating as an officer because by the time the women, who were so traumatized, called 9-1-1 the suspect was long gone.

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Yes

All that changed one night while patrolling the area where the assaults were occurring.  Suddenly the radio beeped, signifying a felony crime in progress and the address was right around the corner from my location.  I immediately turned off my headlights and pulled my vehicle into a dark alley on a hunch that the suspect would take this escape route.  Sure enough, within minutes I saw the silhouette of a man running down the alley in my direction.  I knew it was him so I reached over and turned on my redheads and high beam headlights as I pressed the accelerator to the floor, racing toward him.

The suspect looked like a deer caught in the headlights as I screeched my vehicle to a halt, stopping within inches of his legs.  He was taken into custody, and that night the crime series ended when the latest victim, a young woman, had the ability to quickly compose herself and call 9-1-1.  If this woman had not been able to gather herself so she could respond to what had happened instead of being paralyzed by fear, we may have never caught this criminal and stopped the violence.

As a retired police officer with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, I have learned in my twenty-one years of service that an informed proactive, community goes a long way in preventing crimes from occurring.  It is a reality in the dangerous world we live in that police response times are generally inadequate to capture criminals at the scene, let alone prevent a crime from occurring.  You can bridge that gap by being informed and equipped.  In the “Living Fearlessly” workshop you will learn:

  • How to develop an aware, confident attitude and proactive mindset.
  • How to overcome fear and respond instead of react.
  • What to do if confronted by an attacker.

Join me this Saturday, September 26th, 1 – 2:30 pm at the Green Valley Library for an impactful time.

More Officers Are Taking Their Lives than Are Being Killed in the Line of Duty

debragauthier Inspirational Stories

In the wake of all the officers being targeted and murdered at the hands of lawless individuals, I want to share with you something that is not being talked about. Did you know that more officers are taking their own lives than are being killed in the line of duty? According to studies by The Badge of Life, 15-18% of active duty police officers suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I was one of those statistics and therein lies the reason I am compelled to share my story.

Patrol Sergeant 001

Recently I was talking with a fellow police officer who also served 21 years with his agency and he told me about his struggle with PTSD. When he sought help through his department, they labeled him as crazy and he finally resigned and felt dishonorable, ashamed, and utterly broken. He, too, contemplated suicide and was eventually hospitalized. His story is like thousands of others who have struggled with the trauma working in the caustic world of law enforcement and being “tossed aside like garbage” because of the stigma associated with coming forward for help.

I will never forget that “9-1-1” day in my life after being targeted by the “good ol’ boys” in my agency. I had to endure a lengthy bogus investigation that brought me to the end of myself—that place of hopelessness where the pain is so intense that you are numb. Pioneering as one of the first female officers in my department came with a price and it would ultimately cost me everything. I learned to suck it up and stuff the pain so that I could disconnect emotionally and function.

I hid the pain behind the badge like so many of my fellow officers who turned to alcohol or drugs to numb themselves. My escape from the pain was sports. I used to run marathons, which I didn’t realize at the time connected me with physical pain so I could relieve some of the emotional pain. Like many officers, I couldn’t tell anyone what I was going through because they just wouldn’t understand, so I isolated myself and put the walls up. Being a woman in a male dominated profession only added to the isolation I felt, and I knew any sign of weakness would have brought the wolves in for the kill.

On a rainy day in August 1997 I shut my dogs in the house and went out in my backyard sitting in the rain with my pistol in my lap. I took the gun that I used to protect and serve as a police officer and leveled it at my temple. But before I could bring myself to pull the trigger, I made a desperate 9-1-1 call—not to the police department but to Heaven. To my surprise, God answered and rescued me!

I share this story because our law enforcement officers and their families, especially the wounded warriors who are silently suffering, need our prayers and support. The next time you see an officer, would you greet them with a warm smile and thank them for their service? Those little gestures go a long way. And remember there is a God who loves and deeply cares about us. He is the ultimate rescuer!

(Full story in chapter one, Rescued, of “Bright Lights, Dark Places“)