My life has been full of potholes and rocky bumps. Things haven't been very easy, but growth is rarely easy. Growth can hurt very much as your limbs stretch and pull. This summer has been a journey of progress for the boys and I. We didn't take any exotic vacations to remote locations. Yet, it has been one of the best summers we have had in a long time. It was a summer of honesty and healing.
I am proud of my children. Few people truly understand all the things we have encountered. I am sure we may seem like a hot mess to some. Sometimes the batter doesn't look very appetizing before it bakes to a golden brown. A year or so ago, my oldest and I would have had a very hard time taking up for ourselves. We would make up excuses about our situation or completely lie rather than admit something was wrong.
I haven't always been transparent about my life. In fact, I spent most of my childhood coming up with reasons for the chaos. The truth of my life an unspoken secret. I lied about why my parents didn't come to the conferences and after school performances. I told people my father was sick when he was really home drunk. I told people my mother was sick when she was home unable to leave the house or I wasn't sure where she was many times.
I didn't tell anyone that my father sometimes tried to strangle me late at night thinking I was some enemy pulled from the memories of fighting in two painful wars. People assumed my little sister was shy when she wouldn't speak. The truth is she stopped speaking because of trauma. I was the only person she spoke to in the darkness of the night when the monsters in our home were asleep. Likewise, our pediatrician didn't question why I had the same recurrent nightmare of being chased by the devil night after night after night. He told my father I would eventually stop wetting the bed.
I am proud of my children. Few people truly understand all the things we have encountered. I am sure we may seem like a hot mess to some. Sometimes the batter doesn't look very appetizing before it bakes to a golden brown. A year or so ago, my oldest and I would have had a very hard time taking up for ourselves. We would make up excuses about our situation or completely lie rather than admit something was wrong.
I spent the majority of my life trying to be invisible. Trying not to be noticed. Trying to be quiet. If someone questioned me about my difficult situation, I would make up stories instead of telling the truth. I now realize that God didn't create me to be a doormat nor a liar. He didn't create my children to be dart boards either. Sadly, my life has taught my children that we keep secrets and we tolerate abuse.
I didn't tell anyone that my father sometimes tried to strangle me late at night thinking I was some enemy pulled from the memories of fighting in two painful wars. People assumed my little sister was shy when she wouldn't speak. The truth is she stopped speaking because of trauma. I was the only person she spoke to in the darkness of the night when the monsters in our home were asleep. Likewise, our pediatrician didn't question why I had the same recurrent nightmare of being chased by the devil night after night after night. He told my father I would eventually stop wetting the bed.
We were pulled over by the police many times because Daddy was driving recklessly. He was obviously intoxicated; however, the police would always just let us go with a warning. Who would question the war hero with honorary disabled veteran licensed plates? It is amazing how many times attention was diverted from the abusive situation to my medical condition. Poor little polio-child who wouldn't make eye contact. A child in corrective devices is way more interesting than a story of abuse.
Every once and a while, the neighbors would knock on the door because they heard yelling or things breaking. They always accepted whatever reason my parents gave them. It was a different time in those days. Child Protective Services didn't come to a child's rescue and strangers didn't intervene when they suspected abuse. Don't tell. Keep quiet. Secrets are okay. Mind your own business.
I used to think that other children experienced the same things I did. I assumed all of us lived in fear and torment and pretended things were otherwise. All of our lives were filled with shattering glass and fear. Other children didn't have birthday parties. Other kids had to figure out how to open cans of food because adults forgot they had children to feed. Shouting, yelling, beating, and other abuse that is too awful to ever mention again. We all kept secrets. All of us had voices in our heads constantly telling us, "What is wrong with you?!!" Everyone has gone through this. Right? As a result, I believed my childhood wasn't "that bad". I also believed that even though it was bad that everyone else experienced bad as well. I believed that for a long time. Probably until the day I saw a psychiatrist for issues related to being a foster parent. Her reaction to my childhood made me see things from a different perspective. She didn't even try to hide her shock. She told me my childhood was the worse she had actually personally learned about.
I spent my childhood caring for my addict parents and hiding my little sister under the bed or in a closet so she wouldn't be choked, too. I ran from the memories of being molested by my schizophrenic brother and other people who remain shadows and abstract images in my mind. I spent my young adulthood caring for my mother and my little brother/nephew. I spent many years as a foster parent desperately trying to prevent any other child from experiencing the things I had experienced. My attempt to go back and rescue myself perhaps. In the midst of this life, I had good polio days and bad polio days and days made worse from my inability to recognize abusive situations. Always drawn to rescue the broken, and not quite possessing the needed skills.
Yet, I smiled. Always smiling. Always pretending things were not so bad. Always serving and caring for others and allowing myself to be used and abused. AND always making up reasons why it was okay. Shhh. Don't tell. I lived a traumatic life filled with abuse and neglect and all things that no one should experience. If I had known I had the right to tell and ask for help, my sister and I might have been rescued.
The only thing that remained a constant in my life is the light of God's love for me. As a small child, I would feel his presence in the stillness of my fear and he gave me hope. His presence drew me to the church down the street where I would sneak out to go sit in the pews. I didn't know anything about God really, and yet I knew everything about God.
I spent my childhood caring for my addict parents and hiding my little sister under the bed or in a closet so she wouldn't be choked, too. I ran from the memories of being molested by my schizophrenic brother and other people who remain shadows and abstract images in my mind. I spent my young adulthood caring for my mother and my little brother/nephew. I spent many years as a foster parent desperately trying to prevent any other child from experiencing the things I had experienced. My attempt to go back and rescue myself perhaps. In the midst of this life, I had good polio days and bad polio days and days made worse from my inability to recognize abusive situations. Always drawn to rescue the broken, and not quite possessing the needed skills.
Yet, I smiled. Always smiling. Always pretending things were not so bad. Always serving and caring for others and allowing myself to be used and abused. AND always making up reasons why it was okay. Shhh. Don't tell. I lived a traumatic life filled with abuse and neglect and all things that no one should experience. If I had known I had the right to tell and ask for help, my sister and I might have been rescued.
The only thing that remained a constant in my life is the light of God's love for me. As a small child, I would feel his presence in the stillness of my fear and he gave me hope. His presence drew me to the church down the street where I would sneak out to go sit in the pews. I didn't know anything about God really, and yet I knew everything about God.
I have always been honest with my children about my limitations as a person and a parent. I don't get things right most of the time. I have read so many books on parenting and relationships, but the ghosts of my childhood have left deep impressions in my ability to function as a healthy and normal adult. Sometimes I see the way other people parent and I think I really am a great parent. I was shocked with our foster agency asked me to mentor other foster parents. I think I have done two things that have greatly hurt myself and my children. I have not recognized abuse in our lives soon enough and have not been able to remove it. In my desire to serve God, I spent too many years of Alex's life dragging him all over the place serving others. These are my two greatest regrets.
My children and I are still fumbling and tripping as we try to set boundaries in our life. I still struggle with where to draw the line of what is abuse and what isn't abuse. I am not always able to gracefully maneuver my way through it. Sometimes, I still let people walk all over us. Sometimes, I am like a prickly pear that can't be touched because I am on overdrive overprotect mode. The older I have become, I find it difficult to engage in the small talk and social pleasantries which are necessary to maintain a social life. This has been social suicide for my children and I. The superficial blah, blah, blah and gossip which often accompanies social situations overwhelm me.
I have also become suspicious of churches and am often more comfortable with people who are homeless, tattooed, and broken. I cringe from those who are constantly quoting bible verses because I know all too well that what they practice on the outside isn't always what is going on in their homes. This makes me so sad because the holy scriptures are precious to me. However, my life has taught me that pastors will almost always believe the person who can quote the most bible verses and appear the holiest. They will not believe the one covered in physical wounds and so broken by the emotional wounds they do all they can to ask for help. The abused are the socially awkward, the ones people often say about "there is something not right about her". The wounded often have no bible verses to speak even though their soul screams out to God.
My life has also taught me that those that hurt others probably experienced the same kind or similar kind of awful I experienced as a child. They are probably the most broken of us all. Broken creates broken and more broken and only the grace, mercy, forbearance, and sovereignty of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ can save us from the cycle of hurt, hurting, broken, and breaking.
All of the disconcerting experiences in our lives have a purpose. They aren't meant to be hidden deep in the walls of our hearts like something so ugly no one would ever understand. James tells us to confess our sins to each other so we may be healed. This isn't just for our own healing, but so the one hearing may be healed as well. God takes all of the pain, shame, and misery we have experienced and uses it to encourage someone else.
My children and I are still fumbling and tripping as we try to set boundaries in our life. I still struggle with where to draw the line of what is abuse and what isn't abuse. I am not always able to gracefully maneuver my way through it. Sometimes, I still let people walk all over us. Sometimes, I am like a prickly pear that can't be touched because I am on overdrive overprotect mode. The older I have become, I find it difficult to engage in the small talk and social pleasantries which are necessary to maintain a social life. This has been social suicide for my children and I. The superficial blah, blah, blah and gossip which often accompanies social situations overwhelm me.
I have also become suspicious of churches and am often more comfortable with people who are homeless, tattooed, and broken. I cringe from those who are constantly quoting bible verses because I know all too well that what they practice on the outside isn't always what is going on in their homes. This makes me so sad because the holy scriptures are precious to me. However, my life has taught me that pastors will almost always believe the person who can quote the most bible verses and appear the holiest. They will not believe the one covered in physical wounds and so broken by the emotional wounds they do all they can to ask for help. The abused are the socially awkward, the ones people often say about "there is something not right about her". The wounded often have no bible verses to speak even though their soul screams out to God.
My life has also taught me that those that hurt others probably experienced the same kind or similar kind of awful I experienced as a child. They are probably the most broken of us all. Broken creates broken and more broken and only the grace, mercy, forbearance, and sovereignty of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ can save us from the cycle of hurt, hurting, broken, and breaking.
All of the disconcerting experiences in our lives have a purpose. They aren't meant to be hidden deep in the walls of our hearts like something so ugly no one would ever understand. James tells us to confess our sins to each other so we may be healed. This isn't just for our own healing, but so the one hearing may be healed as well. God takes all of the pain, shame, and misery we have experienced and uses it to encourage someone else.
My childhood taught me to live a life of secrets and deception. This made me the perfect target for those who wanted to do the unspeakable to me later in life. I won't lie to you and say it didn't take an enormous step of faith for me to stop living in the shadows. People keep secrets because they are ashamed or afraid of something. I am not ashamed of what was done to me. The shame is on the ones who have hurt me. The shame is on the ones who have hurt my children. I still struggle with fear and a sense of evil foreboding. Each day is a constant surrender to my God and Father who promises to never leave me nor forsake me in my fear. The poor choices I have made do not bring me joy either, but they no longer bring me shame. They are a testimony of God's grace and mercy. He is sovereign over my choices and over the choices others have made in my life. I can rest in this assurance.
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