Closing the Gap

I've tried to explain this to many before; what I refer to as "the gap".  Some understand but many do not. I guess that's a good thing for those who have been unaffected by the damages of divorce and family dysfunction. I realized years ago that I have suffered what I have referred to now as a gap in family connection with my paternal side after a long ugly divorce.  

My mother initiated the divorce when I was 9.  She left my dad for his friend.  It was downplayed, it was minimized and it was made out to be something different than what it really was.  I see it for what it is now, as it matches the patterns of everything else clearly.  It's her go-to defense mechanism for survival. If not for that, I'm not sure how she could live with her self at this point.  

Shortly after the divorce came the re-marriage; which they had to hop state lines to accomplish because WI has a "cooling off" period between divorce and marriage licenses being issued.

Almost immediately after the covert out of state elopement, the control and manipulation started and this toxic environment made it difficult for me go back and forth between my parents so eventually I stopped seeing my dad altogether. Once my safe parent was out of my life, I was in the perfect spot for grooming and this made it even easier to be controlled and eventually abused by my mother's husband. 

From the age of 11 to almost 18,  I had little to no contact with my father and his family.  After the hell my mother put him through, he was a broken man for a while.  Hearing me say the words I was coerced into saying "don't pick me up, I don't ever want to see you again" must have killed whatever was left inside of him and so he didn't try. 

Fortunately during this time he met and married an amazing woman. (and even more fortunately for me, she has become a better mom to me than my own!) But in this time, with no relationship with my daddy and the family I'd known my whole life; my young developing mind underwent trauma that I wouldn't understand until years later. Even when at 19, I had my first child and my dad was there, and then at almost 20, I married and began to see my family regularly; I still felt this gap.  I felt this cavernous hole and all the pain associated with the missing years at every single family gathering.  

I didn't understand what was happening at first.  Prior to family gatherings I would just turn into a raving lunatic... taking out all my anxiety on my poor husband. I always thought it was the stress of packing...because most visits involved "going up north" and included packing for several days.  (and that IS stressful!)But then inevitably and almost immediately upon leaving (usually in the car) I would burst into tears.  Honestly, sometimes I even shed tears in private while still visiting.  

As I gained awareness of my anxieties and learned how to work through them it became easier but it's been a long hard road.  One of the things that was key to my healing was giving myself permission to grieve the loss. I had to see myself as that little girl who's life was torn upside down, who's fault it never was and let her cry it out over and over.  With no self judgement.  (that wasn't easy after years of abuse...but that's been something else I'm working on too)

Over the years there were times of pushing people away because I thought it was easier than feeling the pain. (and I had myself convinced that no one really loved me-that was an entirely different battle) but once I was able to truly understand that facing the "gap" head on and making the most out of any time spent together was the only way to minimize the damage of this gap, that is when true healing has taken place.  I know there will always be a scar, but the searing pain has faded with time and in it's place is an awareness of joy and blessings. 

This weekend we had a family wedding and I was able to see my entire family; hug them, embrace them, love them, feel loved by them and walk away feeling incredible joy.  Today I cried at the realization that I've come so far.  

Does it still sting a little when I remember all the years I've missed out on with my daddy? (and the rest of the family)  Damn right, it always will.  But I'm not looking backwards. I'm in the present; ever grateful for every moment I have now.  

Let Your Burdens Come Undone

I'm starting to see the patterns more clearly.  Something happens that triggers a ptsd response and try as I might to "deal" with it in a healthy way, years of repressed grief are difficult to just let go of, so my mind body and soul do what they have always done; try to bury it.  Part of that is normal.  How can I function if I'm crying daily?  There are always meals to cook (or at the very least decide on and order out for!) Laundry to wash, fold and let sit in baskets (let's be real here), dishes to rinse, stack and wash later, bills to pay, checkbooks to balance, budgets to set... you get the picture.

I'm getting better at allowing myself freedom to release my feelings but I'm not all the way there yet, so when the last fight with my daughter occurred I allowed myself a few tears and then promptly put my emotions on the back burner and went about my usual routine.  What happened next is what inevitably happens.  I experienced a short bout of depression, during which I began to suffer with an excruciating pain in my neck/spine.  I have a long history with chronic pain and when it strikes I become quickly hopeless because it's debilitating. Thankfully I found  a new chiropractor who has been helping me and the pain has been greatly alleviated.  This lifted my state of despondency quickly since it gave me hope.  

With less pain, and the vibrant colors of Autumn on the horizon and a spring in my step I jumped into a happy-go-lucky upswing with such an extreme urge to live fully that I experienced a bout of mania...some impulsive shopping.  (hey no judging I limited myself to the dollar store and decorated my house for Autumn!) I was truly on a life high, shopping, crafting, planning and living. For an entire week I was on the go, staying up late, not getting much sleep, waking up early and staying busy busy busy. I then spent a fun filled weekend with my dear cousin, staying up til the wee hours of the morning giggling, talking and bonding. We of course slept very little, and we had a few drinks and indulged in some rich food...all things I'm not accustomed to. But truly amazing fun and I can't wait to do it again!!! :)

By the time I arrived home Sunday evening I could feel the fatigue of the week setting in and by Monday by throat was sore...So I had done a number on my body and lowered my immune system. I didn't just catch a cold either, I caught a fricking walking dead zombie plague.  The mother of all viruses that turned bacterial.  16 days of misery.  5 days of fevers. 10 days of antibiotics.  Coughing, oh the coughing...I've probably developed some ab muscles from coughing.  I know I did some incidental kegels whilst coughing...

Two weeks of pain followed by two weeks of illness and my house was seriously trashed.  Talk about overwhelmed...I don't handle clutter well at all.  I like my home to be neat, tidy and sanitized. Anything less makes me feel out of sorts.

All this to say that I just spent the last day and a half marathon cleaning my house and am starting to feel like it's back in order and of course my pain level has shot back up with all the bending & lifting. There is no doubt in my mind that one type of pain triggers the other but I'm determined to not let physical pain (especially one acquired by productive cleaning) trigger a negative emotional response.
(wonder if I'll ever get to the point where I can prevent emotional pain from triggering physical pain??)

I decided to take a cleaning break and sit down at my computer, I felt like looking at some old blogs...and I came across this entry: When Black & White Turn to Gray which was about a fight with my daughter from last May. At the time I wrote this we hadn't spoken in almost a year, and it went on like that until Christmas.  We then slowly began to rebuild our relationship.  We spent some quality one on one time together, worked out some issues.  Did some shopping, got some lunches, coffees, had some girl time.  Fun. Love. Hugs. Mother-daughter time.  I thought we were on the road to restoration.  And then it just fell apart.  She had some issues.  She talked. I listened.  She vented. I validated.  She shared her hurts. I honored them. I apologized for what was mine. But it wasn't enough.  Her anger was visceral. Her words were again tinged with venom. She spewed hatred. She crossed boundaries. She blamed. She triggered me and I ultimately lost my cool. Now it's been quiet again.

This happened shortly before my neck pain started.  It feels like this fight was the same fight, she's mad and still saying hurtful things.  It's no wonder I had a ptsd response.  I feel like I have to continue defending my stance on why I'm angry with my abuser, why I'm hurt by the the one who enabled his abuse.  I just want to heal and move on but in some ways people won't let me.  How can anyone ask me to be in the same place as the man who molested me? The last thing I said to my daughter was that I don't know how to have a relationship with her while she is aligned with my abusers.  It was the single hardest text I've ever written.  I had to set a boundary for my own mental health, with my own child.  How fair is that? It's no wonder I'm hurting and my heartache is manifesting into bone & muscle pain.  I'm surprised I'm still standing.  It's absolutely breaking my heart.  It's literally ripping me in two.  I can't choose one over the other. What she's asking of me, would literally mean the undoing of all I've worked towards in my healing.  The undoing of my own personal sanity.  Yet, she is MY child. I want to choose her, sacrifice for her.  How can I do that and not come undone? I miss my baby girl.  I feel an emptiness inside, that I've been ignoring for fear that I will completely fall apart and not be able to to be put back together again. It's not natural for a mother to not see, hear, touch, hold, hug, kiss, love their own flesh and blood; not for days, weeks, months. This is not how motherhood is supposed to be.  It's just not.

(So of course as I wrote the above paragraph I bawled like a baby.  The line from the song He Knows by Jeremy Camp "let your burdens come undone" is where I struggle most when giving it to God...but when I'm writing, it all comes out.  That's why I blog!)

There is this peace in my heart about where I'm at in life despite all the pain and suffering. Ultimately I know it comes from the Holy Spirit, but I also believe that it's from accepting and being still and in the acceptance and stillness I know that He's working in my life.  I see all the beauty from ashes, all the strength from suffering, and all the character from perseverance.  I don't know what the future holds, but I know it holds a promise for good so I will keep on keepin on, taking one day at a time.

#HeKnows

Lyrics:
All the bitter weary ways
endless striving day by day
you barely have the strength to pray
in the valley low

how hard your fight has been
how deep the pain within
wounds that no one else has seen
hurts too much to show 

all the doubt you're standing in between
And all the weight that brings you to your knees

HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS 
EVERY HURT AND EVERY STING
HE HAS WALKED THE SUFFERING
HE KNOWS, HE KNOWS
LET YOUR BURDENS COME UNDONE
LIFT YOUR EYES UP TO THE ONE
WHO KNOWS
HE KNOWS

we may faint and we may sink
feel the pain and near the brink
but the dark begins to shrink
when you find the one who knows

the chains of doubt that held you in between
one by one are starting to break free

every time that you feel forsaken
every time that you feel alone
He is near to the broken hearted
every tear
He knows…

Mid-life Identity Crisis Averted

I've spent my entire life trying to figure out who I am.  I've been caught in the cycle of defining myself by my circumstances (past & present) or my accomplishments and failures.  My childhood endured trauma.  Does that mean my identity is tied to being a victim?  I've struggled to work through all the pain and anguish it takes to survive. Does that mean my identity is that of a survivor?  
I became a mom at 19.  Does that make me a teen mom? I married my husband at 19.  Does that make me child bride?  I never attended college after completing 12th grade. Does that make me uneducated? I worked some part time jobs in customer service and eventually landed a full time position in collections; complete with salary, benefits and room for growth potential.  Did that make me a career person?  Once I lost it, did that make me a dead beat?  How about that battle with depression, inpatient stay in a psyche hospital and subsequent outpatient work and ongoing therapy?  Am I a mental patient? I've made some major mistakes in my marriage.  As a mom.  As a friend. Daughter. Human.  Do these things define me?  

I thought they defined me.   Until recently.  I continually saw all of these as how I measured up, or failed to measure up.  For example, since my childhood sustained abuse and neglect, I arrived at the conclusion that I must be unlovable.  My identity=orphan 

When we define ourselves by things of this world we put our security on shaky ground.  Jobs can be lost, relationships can fall apart, people can leave, trust can be broken, money can be spent, careers can die, education can be a dead end, health can fail.  And on and on and on.  We can succeed, we can fall short. We can soar and we can crash.  There is only one absolute we can define ourselves by. God Never changes. 

Herbrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Recently I decided to take a much needed social media break to do some reflecting on God's word and spend more time in prayer. My family has re-committed to attending church again after not going for over a year, so I've also used this time to catch up on last years sermons. (which are conveniently available online.) Today's sermon was on identity. It reminded me of something I had written last year so I took a peek back at an older blog titled:  Loved By Choice

A year ago, I was on to something...even then I believe the Lord was trying to reach me where I was at, to let me know I was loved by Him without condition.  He knew I was hurting too much to read His word, so He met me in my dreams. But now, that I'm knocking on that door, and seeking His face and asking, He is answering the door with arms wide open, showing me His face, giving me the answers and the validation in every single prayer, every devotion and every scripture. 

(and let me just say, God IS awesome!)

Ephesians 1:3-8 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.  For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.  In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ in accordance with his pleasure and will to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's Grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. 

That is Loved By Choice my friends.  It couldn't get any better than that.  

THIS is my identity:
I am HIS, He CHOSE me.  I have but ONE purpose.  To live for Him. To share His Good news and let His light shine.

He chose you too.  He gave His life for you too.  I don't know who will read this, but I trust that God gave me these words and it will reach who it needs to and I pray that these words will touch your heart.  None of these material things define you.  The love of a mighty God defines you and it was freely given long ago on Calvary's cross.  I serve a mighty God and He will meet you where you are at, and He will take all your hurt and He will use it for good. It's His promise.  And I believe it because it is what He is doing in my life.  Beauty from Ashes.