Forgiveness As a Choice—Not a Feeling

 

Forgiveness As a Choice—Not a Feeling

I’ve been struggling with an inability to forgive and I found a study with a completely new perspective. What if I chose to forgive now, instead of waiting until I felt like I was ready to forgive?

God sent Christ to die for my sins BEFORE I was sorry. God made a choice to forgive me. God canceled the debt, releasing me from anything I owed him. That’s what real forgiveness looks like.

True forgiveness is a total release from anything we are owed or they deserve as a punishment.

Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Col 3:13 NLT

Forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling. It’s choosing to cancel a debt owed to us. Our feelings may cry out against the whole idea of forgiveness. Still, we can choose. This mirrors what God did when he chose to forgive us.

The divine sequence God has given us is: think, choose, then feel.

1)      We can set our minds on the truth of what needs to be done.

2)      We can choose to forgive and release someone from the debt owed to us.

3)      We can remember the choice we made from then on.

4)      We can live in agreement with the choice we made.

We don’t have to wait for our emotions to line up with our choice.

When we choose to forgive someone, it’s mostly for us, the person we’re forgiving may never know we’re forgiving them; they may not even be alive anymore!

Do we pretend our anger and pain don’t exist or matter? No! Get alone with God and talk to Him. Be honest, He can handle it! You might want to talk to a trusted friend or sponsor too. Then tell God you’re choosing to forgive the person and releasing them from the debt they owe you. Ask God for help when you need it.  

It’s a sin to let my emotions control me rather than holding onto the unchanging truths of God.

Abba Father, thank You for showing me how to forgive, I choose to forgive Richard Eugene Dowden for molesting me when I was a child. I choose to forgive him for making me feel like it was my fault. I choose to forgive him for making it so hard for me to trust You. I choose to forgive him for making it so hard to trust people, including myself. I choose to forgive him for making me feel unloved and unloving and unlovable. I choose to forgive him for awakening evil desires in my mind. I choose to forgive him for demeaning my mother, myself, and my siblings. Lord, I release him from all debts he owes me in this life and in the afterlife. Dad, when I start to fall back into old habits, I ask You to remind me of the choice I’m making today to forgive Richard Eugene Dowden and help me stand firm in my decision to let go once and for all. Thank You for the healing You’ve already given me. Amen.   

Shifting the Blame or Avoiding Responsibility

Another characteristic of abusers is denial of responsibility. The abuser actively and constantly attempts to shift the blame for their actions or thoughts, from themselves to others. Abusers are unwilling to accept responsibility for their actions.

They minimize their actions and the aftermath. When I confronted my evil step-father Dick (by letter) about his abusive ways during my childhood (I didn’t have the courage to truthfully and concisely discuss the abuse, so my accusations were somewhat vague), he wrote back that he had “bittersweet” memories too.

Abusers claim others “made them do it” or “made them mad”. Dick was constantly talking to me about girls who were loose based on their appearance and walk. He made it clear that kind of girl deserved whatever she got. And all women are alike, so they all deserved maltreatment.

Abusers are rarely remorseful. Dick seemed quite uncomfortable with any show of emotion, except anger. I was encouraged to be angry with my siblings. When I was laughing or smiling, his demand was, “Why are you smiling?” When he didn’t approve of the emotion showing on my face, it was “Wipe that look off your face!” When I cried, he’d mock me or spank me longer. When I was bleeding due to an injury and crying, Dick threatened to let me bleed to death if I didn’t stop crying. I learned to deny my feelings for so long that eventually I couldn’t even recognize my feelings.

The abuser tries to make the victim feel responsible.

The victim is often expected to meet needs which are not their responsibility and often beyond their ability.  I never did anything to Dick’s satisfaction, my best efforts were always lacking. 

Once abusers are successful at making their victims feel responsible, the victims carry around an overwhelming sense of shame which makes them feel worthless. The abuser can then use that shame to manipulate and control the victim.

Often, other family members encourage lying or denial in dealing with the abuser; which reinforces to child victims that the abuser is somehow justified. When a victim tries to tell an authority figure about the abuse and is either not believed or encouraged to keep it a secret, they are led to believe they are somehow culpable for the abuse.

This is what the Bible says God feels about blame-shifting and the treatment of victims:

“Acquitting the guilty and condemning the innocent – the LORD detests them both.”                         Proverbs 17:15

Prince of Deception

My evil step-father Dick was a liar. Everything about him was a lie. He didn’t complete grade school, but he would use large words which he thought he understood. Often enough to make him sound ignorant, he would use them inappropriately. He didn’t want to be corrected: I tried.

We were told repeatedly that “we don’t air our dirty laundry in public.” We were taught to keep family secrets; at the same time, we were being told that God considers lying a sin. It is extremely common for abusive families to lie to hide the abuse.

Dick told me repeatedly that I was ugly, unlovable, stupid, of no value, etcetera, etcetera. These were all lies! Unfortunately, I entered adulthood believing all his lies.

Both of my parents and the church told me that a good girl would be a virgin on her wedding day. Dick took my virginity and when I realized it, I knew it meant I was no longer a “good girl” but I was confused because everyone talked like I had a choice in whether or not I was a virgin. I also had to continue lying to my mother because she didn’t know, and I felt a fierce need to protect her. I was profoundly confused.

As I got older, the sexual abuse stopped. When I began working, Dick knew when I got paid and would be waiting for me to arrive home. He would tell me he needed a favor; then ask to borrow my entire paycheck to pay a household utility. I lent him money every time he asked (I would have done anything for my mother and siblings); and he never paid me back. Once I realized what he was doing, I began going and spending my paycheck for what I wanted before I took it home. It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult looking back, but how did he pay the utilities before I started earning a paycheck?

As a teen, I purchased a vehicle using a bank loan. Either, I couldn’t have a title in my name or I couldn’t get a bank loan in my name due to my age. I did go pay on the bank loan every time I got paid until it was paid off. I was so excited. Until I saw my car on the corner with a For Sale sign in the window. (I had been grounded for breaking curfew and was riding the bus.) I asked Dick about it when I got home, and he told me he was selling. When the car was no longer there a little while later, I asked Dick if he’d moved it. He’d sold it. I asked him where my money was from the sale. His reply was “What money?” Lying, stealing, manipulative, abusive, evil man sold the car I paid for and kept the money. (Just when I think I’ve forgiven him, I feel angry all over again!)

I’m still confused by the level of lying in my childhood home. As a child, I lied all the time. I lied about my home. I lied about my step-father. I lied about my siblings. I lied to my step-father. I lied to my mother. If my lips were moving…I was most likely lying.

At some point, I stopped lying. I think it happened when I started to realize that Dick was evil. I think this was when I stopped overtly lying and began learning to deny the reality of the bad things that had happened in my life.

I became more and more verbally honest as time went by and even flipped too far the other direction; using the guise of honesty to say very hurtful things to people I claimed to love.

My mother (who has a pure, loving heart) doesn’t always embrace the truth. She often shades reality by suggesting it’s better than it is. I don’t know if she was in denial or if she was afraid that by facing the problems honestly, she would make them worse. This added to my confusion about lying and honesty.

Today, I hate lying, I pride myself on honesty; however, I’ve learned to be more loving in my approach. Every day, I’m conscious of the fact that I lived most of my adult life in denial of my reality and I need to be wary of doing it now.

I can’t stand a liar. I just figured out why today. What can I say? Sometimes I’m slow on the uptake.

Evidence in a Toy Box

I was active duty Air Force and worked in the Education Office. One of my duties was to collect tuition assistance from students who didn’t successfully pass their classes. This required my interaction with other support staff across the base. One of the airmen I interacted with was Jedidiah Day Jones. I loved having to call him up. He had the sexiest voice. We flirted a bit.

One day, I was at my desk working when I heard a voice. Oh my. I knew that voice. It was Jedidiah. He was not nearly as sexy looking as he was sounding. We talked for a while and he asked me out. I accepted. We dated a bit and got along well. He seemed to like my son. I was still heartbroken over my last failed marriage. I didn’t want a really good-looking man who would cheat on me. I was okay with liking someone and having it grow into love.

I was honest with him. I told him I wanted to have another child when I was 25 years old because I didn’t want my son Fergus to be an only child. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. He told me he wanted to be a father and for us to be a family. We went to Las Vegas and got married at the Little White Chapel. He told me to stop taking my birth control pills. I asked him if he was sure because as soon as I stopped them, I would become pregnant. I was that fertile. He said yes. Three times.

(That’s right people, we had the same conversation about having another child … count them … three times. Every time, he said he was ready for us to get pregnant and have a child together.)

We got married, got a ticket for a burnt-out headlight on the way home, he moved in with me and we were pregnant three days later. I told him I was pregnant, and he said, “I’m not ready to be a dad.” What the????

The next several months were an emotional roller coaster in a Hell-inspired theme park. He started sleeping on the couch. He drank every leftover dime up. His car was broken down and he expected me to pay to fix it. He stole my son’s birthday money. He got drunk at a house party we threw and tried to drive away in my car, I threw my keys into the neighbors darkened yard. He got angry and left. He moved out. He moved in. He moved out. He cheated on me with a coworker of his who was short and quite plump. I was angry he cheated on me with someone less attractive than I. He moved in. He got angry and wanted to move out again and his best friend who was also a long-time acquaintance of mine told him he was being ridiculous, and he would only move him one more time. He moved out. He tried to take things that were mine before he came into my life. He took back gifts he’d given me. He threatened to take my unborn child.

I panicked. I lied. I told him the baby wasn’t his.

Later I told him the truth, but it was too late. He grabbed hold of that lie and ran with it. He said he wanted a DNA test. I agreed to allow it but refused to pay for it. I told him it was physically impossible for anyone else to have fathered my child.

He told me he was going to ask for full custody and that he was only going to agree to pay $65 a month in child support. He wrote a letter and left it in my son’s toybox stating he was being tempted by Satan to kick or hit me in the stomach, so I’d lose our baby. I still have that letter 28 years later. I used it to ask for supervised visitation after our child was born because it proved he was considering harming our child.

Red Flags to Avoid

As pervasive as abuse is, it’s important that we’re aware of red flags while we’re selecting our life partners. Better to completely avoid becoming entangled with an abuser. Survivors can easily connect with an abuser because we’re comfortable with the relationship dynamics with them. It’s what we know.

According to “Mending the Soul: Understanding and Healing Abuse” by Steven R. Tracy, the general characteristics of abusers include denial of responsibility, deceitfulness, harshly judgmental of others and calculated intimidation. I agree with this conclusion as it’s what I experienced at the hands of my abuser.

My evil step-father Dick was extremely judgmental. He seemed to hate everyone. He was misogynistic. He had nothing nice to say about women ever. He was also racist. Basically, it seems he hated everyone but himself and other pasty-faced white men. Yes, I still have a lot of animosity toward him. In retrospect, I think he was comparing himself to others and finding reasons so he could believe he was superior to them. At some level, he may have known his behaviors were wrong; however, he never had to look at his own shortcomings because he was busy badmouthing others for what he perceived as their problems.

We moved to a town which had a sign on its border which said (I apologize profusely) “No niggers, spicks, or chinks allowed.” He would say the “n*****” were trying to take over the world by interbreeding with white women. I was astounded by his ignorance. He would see a girl walking down the street and proclaim she was a whore and he could tell by the way she walked and dressed. He would tell me all women were alike if you turned them upside down.

My evil step-father Dick also used intimidation to keep myself and my siblings in line. I don’t remember Dick making any direct threats: I just felt this constant, overwhelming sense of dread. I knew I was going to be subjected to more abuse because my best was never good enough. I’m in a constant state of alert because I’m always expecting more suffering to come my way.

When it was time for a spanking, Dick would send me to get his belt. If I was crying, he would spank me until I stopped. If I was not crying when the beating began, he would spank me until I cried.

I wasn’t allowed normal emotions. I was allowed anger.

I split my knee open playing tag in the dark and was crying when I came inside the house. Dick was there and told me to stop crying or he’d let me bleed to death. I stopped. He put rubbing alcohol on my open wound; and I passed out from the pain.

He was always threatening to “wipe that look off your face” or “give you something to cry about.”

Abusers are master manipulators and use all kinds of strategies to trap their victims for as long as possible. I believed I had little to no power as a child. At 11 years old, I began planning my escape by trying to save up enough money to leave my childhood home. I believed that was the only solution.

People were always complimenting my parents for how well-behaved their children were in public. We were terrified of being beaten by Dick when we got home.

No one knew the truth. I didn’t know how to ask for help. When I finally tried, I was dismissed by a health care “professional” as a dramatic teen. My maternal grandmother sensed something was wrong but didn’t know how to ferret out the truth. What my childhood family showed the world was a lie.

Don’t Get in the Shower If You Feel Paranoid!

I pawned my wedding rings and moved into an apartment. While The Rock was in custody, I returned to our housing and took my belongings. I left everything that was ours for him, I just wanted out with my life and my freedom. We had two vehicles, a VW bug and a Chevy Impala. I took the bug that I drove all the time and paid for and left the Impala which he drove all the time and I paid for with my Guard bonus.

He stole the VW and the police couldn’t do anything because it was titled “The Rock OR Maria O’Rourke.” If it had said AND in between our names, neither of us could do anything without the other person’s signature. Because it said OR, either one of us could do anything we wanted with it. So, I stole it back.

His female Commanding Officer somehow managed to keep him from going to trial or jail. He was released on his own recognizance and as far as I know was never held accountable for attempting to kill me. No one in his chain of command ever contacted me to find out if I was okay. The police never followed up.

I moved on with my life.

I began a relationship with the Supply Sergeant in my National Guard unit. He moved in with me. I didn’t have a refrigerator, so I kept a cooler full of ice and just kept necessities on hand.

My new boyfriend was a drug dealer. We would go to his supplier’s house and he would have me wait in my car. He’d say, “If you hear gunshots, just leave. Don’t wait for me.” Then, he’d distribute it out to street dealers.

I let him talk me into trying cocaine and smoking marijuana. I didn’t like either. The cocaine had no effect at all, and I became weirdly paranoid when I smoked marijuana. I would smoke, then become paranoid, so I’d get in the shower. Once in the shower, naked, I’d become convinced the cops were going to bang on my door any second because someone walked by, smelled it, and reported us.

What an idiot! Don’t get in the shower if you feel paranoid!

Blaming the Child Victim

Something I struggle with nearly every day is the belief that I’m not enough, that I’m defective, that I’m responsible for every bad thing in my life and the lives of everyone else.

Intellectually, I know it’s not my fault there’s a war in Syria or racism or a myriad of other evils but the soul damage I suffered at the hands of my evil step-father Dick has caused what seems to be permanent damage (unless God decides to miraculously remove it).

Ironically, I even feel like it’s my fault I can’t figure out how to overcome the belief that I’m to blame; this is a perfect example of my “stinking thinking”.

As I read “Mending the Soul: Understanding and Healing Abuse” by Steven R. Tracy, my dilemma was explained at long last.

Abusers blame their victims. My step-father believed everything was my fault and told me so every day of my childhood.

I believed the abuse was my fault. I believed it happened because I wasn’t good enough. I believed that if I was good enough, my evil step-father Dick would finally approve of and love me. I believed that I had the power to stop the abuse if I was just good enough. The abuse didn’t stop until I moved away as a young adult. I was never good enough in Dick’s eyes.

Rather than conclude that a parent is wrong or evil, children decide they must be bad and at fault for their parent’s abuse.

Children come to believe they deserve the abuse.

My reaction is common among victims of child abuse. They falsely believe the parent is good and they are bad. They believe their own bad behavior brought on the abuse and they can stop the abuse by being good. This gives them a sense of hope and power. They hold on to this belief tenaciously.

I had requested counseling because I thought I had a sexual dysfunction. We discussed the sexual abuse I suffered as a child in the broadest terms. The counselor asked if I felt ashamed of what had happened, and I burst into tears. Of course, I did, and I thought it was because some of it felt good to a child. Sexual touch was designed by God to feel good and it’s good for us when done within the boundaries of God’s plan for us. Now, I understand it was also because my evil step-father Dick had blamed me as a child, and I believed him.

I was attending Celebrate Recovery meetings for abuse survivors in Washington State. The first meeting, the facilitator stated if anyone was abused as a child, they were NOT to blame. I cried as if I was a child again. I needed to hear that so badly and didn’t even know it.

I would love to leave this habit I have of blaming myself for anything that goes wrong behind; however, I’m certain I’m not capable of leaving this shortcoming behind on my own. I’m totally willing to let God remove it from my life. I’m also totally okay with having God use this about me to help another person who has survived childhood abuse. What man intended for my harm, God will put to good use.

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”     Genesis 50:20

The Image of God Distorted and Mended

Recently finished reading “Mending the Soul: Understanding and Healing Abuse” by Steven R. Tracy. It was excellent and now I’m trying to distill what I learned to a shareable form.

My step-father Dick was abusive. He abused me physically, emotionally, spiritually, verbally, and sexually. Satan used my step-father’s abuse to separate me from God’s love and nearly destroy me. I’ve always believed in God, but I couldn’t trust him. I thought he was like my step-father.

God’s design is for children to learn about him through their experiences with their parents. My step-father taught me what Satan is like, but it has taken me decades to understand this. My mother is a godly woman, but she was unaware of the extent of the abuse and she was unable to protect me from her husband. My step-father convinced me that I was all wrong, stupid, sinful, unlovable, good for only one thing-being a virgin when I married. I believed I was unforgivable and hopeless. My step-father blamed me for his actions and I believed him.

I attended church faithfully throughout my childhood and on and off as an adult, but I was trying to earn God’s favor. Every time I heard the following verse, I again felt like the abuse had to be my fault, because what kind of father…?

“Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” Luke 11:11-13

If evil, human fathers give their children food when they ask, why was mine abusive? Why was he angry all the time? Why did he ravage my soul with his nasty, hurtful words? Why did he touch me inappropriately?

I believed in God and I had accepted Christ as my Savior, but I had no trust in God, so I ran from him, and was disobedient (I trusted my way more than I trusted him). I had very little joy in my life. I couldn’t accept that anyone could love the real me, so I was separate from my spouse and children.

Some of the common distortions abuse survivors battle are: God isn’t big enough, God isn’t good enough, God is mean and untrustworthy, God isn’t safe, and God’s love and approval must be earned.

It was almost impossible for me to believe God loved me. I’d feel it for a moment, then it was gone again. It wasn’t until a Christian woman loved me with Christ’s love (not sexual) that I could finally accept that God loved and accepted me as I was. This is what God says about me and all his children.

“The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

It was not part of God’s plan that I suffer abuse at the hands of my step-father. Dick made sinful choices which created consequences for me. Jesus chose to be abused in order to save my eternal soul, so he understands my hurt. God is sad when his children are hurt. Here is what God says about abusers who cause children to stumble.

“If anyone causes one of these little ones-those who believe in me-to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” Matthew 18:6

Today, I’m convinced God, my heavenly Father, my Creator loves me!

I Wanna Be Right!

As an abused child, my step-dad Dick told me over and over how wrong I was and led me to believe he might love me IF I did something, anything right. 

I became an adult abuse survivor who desperately needed to be right, so I could be worthy and loved. 

I learned in 12-step meetings to ask myself “Do I wanna be right? Or do I wanna be happy?”  Most of the time, this questions allows me to let go of an argument and my need to win it. 

Exception found. 

For some reason, having a 7 or 10 year old argue with me drives me to the edge of madness! 

Me:          On the next slide, you’ll be taking a quiz.

Student:   It’s a quiz check. 

Day after day, for crying out loud, it’s an assessment!  They’re all assessments and it doesn’t make you any smarter by arguing with me again and again! 

Me:          Go to the next slide and reread the text.

Student:   I’ve already done this.

Me:          Do it again. 

Student:   But I’ve already done this.

Me:          I know, read it again, the slide says REread.

Student:   But that’s not fair, I’ve already read it!

Day after day, lesson after lesson.  Quit arguing with me and do what I’ve asked you to do!

Me:          Let’s start with Math today.

Student:   Aw, I wanted to do Language Arts first. 

Another day. 

Me:          Let’s start with Language Arts today.

Student:   Can’t we start with Art today?

Day after day.  Power struggle after power struggle.

Me:           Why did you skip slide 10?

Student:    I didn’t. 

Me:           You were just on slide 9, now you’re on slide 11.  Did you watch the videos?

Student:    No. 

Me:           Why not?

Student:    I didn’t think I needed to.

Me:           Where’s your notebook (where he has written he won’t skip parts of the lessons without my express permission.)?

Student:   My brother took it home.

Minutes later, I pull out both of his notebooks. 

Me:           Why did you tell me your brother took your notebook home?

Student:    I didn’t. 

What am I missing here?  Day after day. 

And at the end of the day? 

Damn it! 

I want to be right! 

Slow to the Pace of Grace

I heard this phrase in a sermon when I lived in Washington state and it resonated with me. 

I was taught as a child that doing tasks was important and a possible way to win favor.  I was also taught that my best would never be good enough; therefore, I have no worth.  Sorry, I had an evil step-father named Dick.

Because of my childhood training, I have spent my adulthood doing.  And what I did was never enough so I could never slow down or stop. 

The pastor said Christians need to slow to the pace of grace.  We need to make time in our busy lives to do what God prompts when he prompts. 

His example was the Good Samaritan in Luke 10.  A traveler was beaten and robbed by thieves, and left naked beside the road.  The Samaritan was traveling but was filled with compassion when he saw the beaten man.  The Samaritan cleaned and bandaged the injured man’s wounds.  He put him on his animal and carried him to an inn.  The following morning, he gave the innkeeper some money and asked him to take care of the man, explaining he would return for the injured man. 

My first instinct is to say, “What? Who has time or money for that?”  And yet, that is exactly what Jesus expects from Christians. 

We need to get our priorities right.  In today’s world, businesses are pushing their employees to do more and more and more with less and less and less.  Sometimes, as Christians, we’re conflicted because we have multiple goals and we’re not sure which should come first.  But God tells us that his priority is more important than the world’s. 

“The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.”

1 John 2:17

We need to stop doing what we think is most important and do what God is asking.  He will bless us if we obey him. 

As a Christian, the thing I desire most is to hear “Well done, good and faithful servant,” cross my Father’s lips. 

All I have to do is obey him and the most important command he gives me is to give people a glimpse of who he is by loving them in action. 

“Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other.  Let us show the truth by our actions.”

1 John 3:18. 

I can’t show love to anyone if I don’t slow down and give them my time and help when they need it.  

How I Escaped His Attack

I had agreed to work overtime to speed up when I could afford my own place. I had just finished my early shift and was due to start my regular shift shortly when a coworker told me my husband was there looking for me and wanted to talk to me. I agreed to go out back to talk to The Rock. The store was the central retailer in a strip mall. The parking was in the front of the various stores, but there was also pavement in the back which was never occupied by anyone. At the time, I was a cigarette smoker and that’s where we took our smoke breaks.

I go out back and we’re talking. The Rock is accusing me of having sex with the person I’m rooming with. I’m denying it again. Suddenly, the light goes out of his eyes, and he says “Well, I just came here to do this.” He pulls out a brand-new switchblade and opens it to reveal the 6” blade. He makes a stabbing motion toward my stomach and I put up my hand in defense: he cuts the tips of three of my fingers and I begin to bleed quite a bit.

I was hopping mad! Literally.

I lost my mind and started hopping in a circle, screaming at him, “You cut me! I can’t believe you cut me!” I was thinking about the woman they’d recently found dead in a secluded pond, killed by her angry lover in a domestic violence attack. I was thinking about the fact that he had an open switchblade in his hand. I was thinking if I ran, he would catch me before I got to safety. I was thinking that I was losing blood and starting to feel woozy.

A couple in a VW pull up to ask for directions and I ask them to call for help. They sped off.

I told him I needed medical attention. He offered to take me to the hospital. I didn’t want to get in the car with him. (Never let them move you to a different location.) I told him I was woozy and there was a pharmacy in the mall where we could purchase hydrogen peroxide and bandages. He agreed. We walked in together, got the items, waited in line for them, and paid for them. I couldn’t believe no one noticed my distress, the blood, or my wounds.

I told him my regular shift was starting soon and I needed to eat before it began. He offered to treat me to fast food across the street. I suggested we eat inside Montgomery Ward at their little diner. He agreed. We went inside, ordered, and sat down in a booth with our food. I sat there picking at my food, trying to respond to him in a way that wouldn’t create suspicion, while I was trying to figure out how to get away from him.

My supervisor comes in and approaches us. I’m thinking she’s looking for me because I’m late for my shift. Yay! She kneels next to us and starts making small talk. I’m wearing white flats which are splattered with blood and am sporting new bandages on three fingers. She doesn’t notice. While she’s talking to him, I interrupt to ask him if it’s okay if I go to the restroom. He agrees. I leave the table and head upstairs to the employee only bathrooms. He can’t get past the locked door. I go straight to Security and tell them what’s going on. They go detain him until the Air Force Security Police arrive to take him back to base.

The Common Denominator

I was at another 12-step meeting.  I’d already been to one that day and now I was double-dipping. 

My husband had asked if he could use my car to go watch a soccer game his friends were playing in.  I agreed.  He didn’t come home for 3 days.  We only had one car between us, so I was stranded all weekend. 

He didn’t call me until he was out of money and had no gasoline to get back home from the casino, which was hours away. 

I sent him just enough cash by Western Union to get home (not like in the past when he had padded the amount he needed so he could go back in and gamble some more).  He had my car and I needed it to get to work. 

I was hurt.  I cried all weekend.  We’d been through this before and I was realizing I couldn’t trust him.  He’s a gambler and a liar. 

I didn’t know if I could be in a relationship with someone I couldn’t trust, (More on this later.) so I was freaking out. 

I didn’t really know the people at this second meeting but I was desperate.  I poured my heart out.  I cried.  I was distraught. 

Afterward, a woman asked me if I’d like to have coffee.  I did. 

We sat and talked.  I told her the sordid details of my three prior marriages and divorces.  I told her all about the issues my ex-husbands had.  She asked me, “What’s the common denominator?” 

I kept on telling her about the shortcomings of my exes.  I’d heard her question but only in the edges of my conscience because it didn’t make sense.  They had problems.  I didn’t. 

She asked again, just as quietly, “What’s the common denominator?”

I stopped.  Dumbstruck.  I sheepishly responded, “I am.”

For the first time in my life, I looked at my marriages objectively and realized I was the common denominator.  I chose each of those partners. 

This was a pivotal point in my recovery because I started taking accountability for my part, the part I can change. 

I realized that each of my chosen partners had addiction issues of some kind:  alcohol, drugs and gambling. 

I loved addicts.  I hated addicts.  I was comfortable with these relationships as I’d lived them my entire life.  I was miserable and wanted something different and better. 

I kept going back and as a result I’m no longer the person I used to be.  I make better choices.  . 

God is Love

I was so surprised to read “God is love” in the bible. 

I believed God was this all-powerful being who created mankind and then tormented his creation for his pleasure.  I thought God believed I was evil and unlovable and that he was just waiting for me to die so he could judge me and send me to hell for eternity. 

I believed I could fix this if I could just show God some success in my life at following his directions. 

I experienced Christians as better-than-me do-gooders who had perfect lives.  I felt shut down when I tried to share my real struggles.  I heard them saying my faith and obedience weren’t good enough.  I believed they were reinforcing my brokenness with their judgment. 

I finally God desperate enough to try something different and I went to a 12-step program where most of the people were at some stage of growth and healing.  These were a loving people and they welcomed me with love. 

I went back to church and found myself welcomed with loving embraces by the female leader of the singles’ group.  She knew I was living with a man, but she left that up to God and loved me where I was. 

When God invited me to surrender; I did no without hesitation or reservation. 

It was amazing. 

Then I started reading my bible and praying every day. 

People always talk about the love chapter in 1 Corinthians 13, love is this, love is not that, blah, blah, blah, human love.  Human love had failed me, that chapter left me feeling disappointed. 

I came across 1 John and sprinkled throughout the pages are explanations of God’s love, our love toward him, and how he wants us to love each other.  I’d read these verses before but my eyes and heart were closed, they didn’t make sense.  Now they do. 

Dear Father, I pray anyone who reads these verses does so with their eyes and hearts open.  I pray they understand the depth of your love for us.  I pray they understand what you’re asking them to do.  I pray they will see through Satan’s lies about love as he tries to take a beautiful truth about you and distort it to separate us from you and your love and mercy.  In Jesus’ precious name.  Amen

“God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”       1 John 4:16

“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters.”                        1 John 3:16

“Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”            1 John 4:8

“Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.”     1 John 4:20

“Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.”

                                 1 John 3:18

God loves us and wants a relationship with us.  God designed us to love others and to be in relationship with them.  Satan tries to convince us that God doesn’t really love us and that we can have love and relationships that are better than God’s plan for us. 

Don’t be deceived. 

“He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him.  When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.”                           John 8:44

God and Satan want two different outcomes for you. 

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”       John 10:10

God wants you to spend eternity with him in heaven.  Satan wants you to keep him company in hell for eternity. 

I would love to hear from you.  Let’s share our master’s (God and Jesus’) joy with each other!

I Didn’t Love Him Enough to Go to Prison for Him

I was trying to find ways to cope. I had numbed myself emotionally and had become adept at twisting the tables on The Rock verbally. He would start an argument and I would end it by saying the meanest things (true or false didn’t matter) I could think of and causing him to cry.

One day, my supervisor asked me how things were going at home. She asked if he’d physically attacked me since the last time I’d talked to her about it. I told her he hadn’t touched me but was going out drinking regularly. I told her I had started keeping a kitchen knife under my pillow in case he came home in the middle of the night and started to assault me. She told me if I used the kitchen knife I would go to prison for murder because it showed premeditation by having it under my pillow instead of leaving him now.

Well, I didn’t want to go to prison. I did love The Rock, but I had no idea how to show him love or be the wife he wanted or how to build a successful marriage.  I didn’t want to go to prison for him.

The next time he was sent away on a mission, I moved out. I didn’t have much financial resource, so I was staying on the floor at a friend’s economy apartment. This friend would have married me and taken care of me in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t interested. He was a perfect gentleman. My intent was to get my own place with my next paycheck.

The Rock returned and found my note explaining I was leaving. He was furious. He began calling and trying to find me. I spoke with him and told him I wasn’t coming back. He wanted to know where I was staying. I wouldn’t tell him. I believe he followed me from work to the apartment and then he accused me of having sex with my friend. I denied his allegations.

“Mending the Soul” Book Review

An important part of my relationship with God is connecting with Him each morning. I read out of a daily 12-step inspirational book, and out of whatever book I’m studying (either the Bible, a bible study book, or a topical book by a Christian author), and I pray. If I don’t start my day on this solid grounding, I’ve pretty much screwed myself. I’ll end up behaving in a way I’m not proud of or I’ll have to endure something alone when I could’ve had help from my Father.

Anyway.

I’ve been reading “Mending the Soul: Understanding and Healing Abuse” by Steven R. Tracy. He and his wife are the founders of Mending the Soul Ministries.

This is an excellent book. I recommend it to anyone who has survived abuse or works with people who are abuse survivors.

I don’t remember how the book came to be on my radar. I may have read about it in another book or I may have had friends who were reading it and talked about it on Facebook. Either way, the book made it into my bible study material.

I’m a survivor of childhood abuse at the hands of my step-father Dick. I spent decades trying to heal myself. I didn’t trust God because I thought he was like Dick. My life was a hot mess when an atheist friend suggested a 12-step program. God used that program to begin healing me and our relationship. He continues to improve me.

I know a lot of people at various stages in their healing process and I have a lot of compassion for them. This book seemed like a good fit for me.

The book outlines what abuse is and how it colors our perception of God. It describes abusers and their families. It discusses the extent of abuse and the origins. The author also talks about how abuse affects the lives of abuse survivors. He also goes into detail about how to seek healing and how to help others on their journey to recovery.

I’ve read a lot of self-help books over the years and received a substantial amount of counseling. This is the first book I’ve read that discusses abuse within the Christian community honestly. He doesn’t dismiss counseling, he explains how to help abuse survivors in a spiritually sound way that will help rather than further traumatize them.

There were some specific areas of interest for me, including: guilt versus shame, feeling like it was my fault, minimization, repressed memories, learning from the past, wrestling with God, how God feels about abusers, and forgiveness.

I plan to discuss this in greater detail and would love to hear your thoughts on the subject.

I Was a Mixed-up Mess

We went to counseling with a Baptist minister. He told me everything was my fault because I wasn’t honoring my husband like the bible says I must, so my husband can do anything he wants. He is the head of the house and it’s my Christian duty to obey my husband. End of story.

He was sent on frequent temporary duty missions and was away from home a lot. We had a phone in the house, but I didn’t want to tell my mom the truth about what was going on. She and my evil step-father Dick were getting divorced; he abandoned her and his children and left town, so she was struggling financially. I didn’t want to be another burden to her. I entertained my husband’s “friends” while he was away. I did it because I was unhappy, abused by my own husband, trapped and angry. I did it. It was sinful and wrong. It was hurtful. I never admitted another affair. I loved him, but I had no idea how to be married. I had no idea how to have a conversation with him. I had no decent relationship skills. I tried but I was sorely lacking. So was my husband.

I worked in domestics at Montgomery Ward in Melbourne, Florida. I had a supervisor I really liked. She invited me to dinner at her home when my husband was away on duty. I met her husband and enjoyed a lovely meal. Then, she told me her husband wanted to get into the swinger lifestyle and they were wondering if either I or myself and my husband would like to join them in threesomes or foursomes. I declined. Later when she and I spoke privately, I explained to her it wasn’t a lifestyle I was interested in, at all. She apologized and told me her husband was unhappy in the marriage and pressuring her to invite her friends to join them in the bedroom.

Obviously, she and I confided in each other. I had told her about the physical abuse The Rock was often subjecting me to, and she was encouraging me to leave him. I felt trapped. I was raised to believe good girls were virgins when they married (I was not, thanks to my step-father). I thought of myself as a Christian and Christians don’t get divorced. I didn’t think I had anywhere to go, even though my mother would have welcomed me home. I was a mixed-up mess.

She Was a Doozy!

Where to begin?

I’ve had many jobs: babysitting, Dairy Queen, gas station, McDonald’s, county treasurer’s office, yogurt shop, Army National Guard, convenience store, Montgomery Ward, regular Air Force, bagging groceries, waitressing, and a major insurance company. I stayed at the insurance company 19 years. I left because I was returning to my hometown to marry and it wasn’t possible to transfer.

I’ve never been fired from a job. I’ve always exceeded the expectations of my supervisors. I’ve had many, many supervisors. Some were great, some weren’t. I figured out what each of them wanted and how to get along with all of them. Except one. The last one. Oh, and she was a doozy!

Her name is Shenehneh Booker. She’s a beautiful, intense, opinionated, vocal, intelligent, passionate woman. She spent the first year telling me what to do, do this, do that, do this, do that. Yes, I was learning how to do things, but I had no understanding of why I was doing it or how it fit into the grand scheme of what we were supposed to be doing. Protecting children.

I’m passionate about children. They are vulnerable and should be protected. They are our future. I was a child once and no one saved me from my step-father Dick. I wish someone had. I’ve been wanting to do something like this since my early 20s.

She seemed to enjoy making other people look small. She would reprimand and ridicule people in public. She would call you into her office, shut the door, get so close your knees were almost touching, then tell you how angry she was about a mistake you’d made. She would tell you how no one was going to have your back if you made a mistake. She would come to your desk and berate you for not doing whatever was currently the thing she wanted from you most. Other people told me she called them stupid and told them they’d never succeed. Other people told me to beware. Other people told me she would choose a victim and then systematically ruin them. I chose to hope for the best.

I was disappointed.

She was the only person who complained about my efforts and my results. Every other person had nothing but positive notes and encouragement for me.

Too many children, not enough time. Too many time-sensitive criteria, not enough time. Too vague training, not enough time. Too many late reports, not enough time. Too many unasked questions, not enough time. Too little help and change, not enough time.

I often wondered if we were doing more harm than good. Sometimes it was evident that intervention was needed. The gray areas seemed to outnumber the black and white.

I would wake up in the middle of the night wondering if a particular child was okay or if I needed to do something more. I would wake up in the middle of the night with my stomach in knots and my heart in my throat; physically sick at the thought of what I had seen and what might happen next and that I had to get up in a few hours and do it all over again.

I had to do it. I believe God brought me to this position. I believe I was obedient to Him. I believe He taught me a lot about myself and others. I believe he put me in situations where I was able to love others on His behalf. I believe if I hadn’t done it, I’d always have regretted it and wished I’d had the opportunity.

All my childhood, I heard how stupid and ugly and worthless I was. I believed it. I spent most of my adulthood trying to heal myself. I couldn’t. I learned to trust God through a 12-step program. I’m surrendered to God. God has healed me. I have serenity, a full range of emotions, the ability to have a loving intimate relationship, healthy boundaries with my family and friend, hope and positivity, gratefulness, and joy.

I no longer live in denial.

Shenehneh is abusing her direct reports verbally and emotionally. She has created an unsafe work environment. She enjoys demeaning and hurting vulnerable adults. She provoked the same emotional and physical responses in me that I felt as a child being abused by my step-dad. She told me to take better emotional care of myself and mocked my recovery on one hand, while verbally attacking me on the other.

I lasted a year and a half, much longer than the average. I did my job to the best of my abilities and training. I treated everyone with respect. I treated myself with love, honesty, kindness, and respect. I did not allow another person’s actions to cause me to lower my personal standards.

I’m Not an Effing Chair!

***WARNING: There is cursing in this one.***

It was early days in my 12 step meetings. I had gone from tentatively attending one each week; to attending multiple meetings a week on several different nights of the week. It may have been during a time when I was so desperate for change and serenity, that I was attending multiple meetings on the same day.

One person kept saying the same thing at meeting after meeting. (Over time, I realized I’m a slow learner when it comes to major insights into myself and God frequently uses at least three various avenues to teach me something or to get my attention.) I thought what he was saying was cute but not real helpful. Here’s the gist of it, “Just because someone calls you a chair, doesn’t make you a chair.”

And it finally hit me!

Just because my evil step-father called me stupid, ugly, unlovable, lacking in common sense, etcetera, did not make it true! All those years (and I’m talking decades) had passed, he had passed on, and I was still hearing his voice in my head saying those awful things to me.

I went home and thought about it. Was there any truth to the things he’d say about me? No. I got a three by five index card and a colorful marker and I wrote “I’m Not a Fucking Chair!” I taped the card to my bathroom mirror where I’d see it every day when I brushed my teeth.

I left it there for a year. Long enough for it to sink into my being. I rarely hear his voice anymore, but when I do, I respond to my step-dad like this, “I’m not a fucking chair and I never was.”

We Want a Different Outcome

I’m spending a lot of time with my nephews while they do schoolwork for their online charter school. It’s a blessing. They are 7 and 10 years old. They were not succeeding in a traditional brick and mortar school. I’m disabled due to vertigo and unable to work. I don’t have to run around chasing them, so it’s working out well.

I keep remembering my brother Adam at the age of 10. He would sit at our huge picnic-style dining room table working on his math homework. He would have tears streaming down his face. No matter how much time he spent working on it, it wasn’t good enough.

I don’t know why he was unsuccessful at picking up math concepts. I couldn’t see inside his mind. Did he have dyslexia? Were the numbers jumbled up? Did he miss a simpler concept prior to this, and therefore didn’t have the basics to support more complicated concepts? I don’t know.

My step-father Dick’s approach was to ridicule my brother. Ridicule is not quite right. He tormented my brother Adam. He told my brother he was stupid and wouldn’t amount to anything. He would pressure him to stop looking at the paper and just answer the question already. Dick told Adam he was lazy and that’s why he couldn’t do it, if he just put in the effort… It would go on and on.

All this from a man who dropped out of elementary school. He was uneducated and sounded like it. He was constantly using words he didn’t understand inappropriately.

I have no memories of trying to help Adam with his homework and I don’t know why. I could have tried to help him when Dick wasn’t around.

To try to help in the midst of Dick grinding Adam down verbally? No way! That would be putting a target on yourself and saying to Dick, “Me next! Be mean and hateful to me next!” We’d each had enough of that to last a lifetime.

I really wish I’d been able to do more to protect my siblings from Dick.

My 10-year-old nephew Nathan is struggling with math right now. He’s so frustrated and hopeless when it comes to schoolwork. I’ve had to explain to him that I love him, and I’m not trying to trick him or make him look stupid. He expects to be mistreated by me because I’m in the role of teacher. I continue to tell him I’m confident his grades can improve because they don’t currently reflect what he’s capable of doing. I DO NOT want to add to his frustrations. I don’t want to add to his negative self-talk.

He’s a great kid with an awesome sense of humor and a desire to please people. He loves his little brother fiercely.

I would like to help build his confidence in his ability to succeed. I’d like to step back and figure out why he isn’t getting it, so we can fill the gaps in his current education and continue to learn. I would like to encourage him to pursue learning new information about stuff that interests him.

Pray for me as I interact with this precious young man. Pray that I’ll do no harm to him in my imperfection. Pray that I’ll have eyes to see what he needs most each day.

I do NOT want to see the same defeat in Nathan’s eyes, which I witnessed in his father’s eyes.

Choked Unconscious

The Rock and I had fun together. He continued to drink with his friends after work. We would go bowling together. He began borrowing money from his friends and each pay period he would borrow more. We were falling further and further behind. I was in the Florida National Guard but only received a small paycheck for one weekend of training each month. I went to work at a convenience store to supplement his income. He didn’t like it but didn’t complain too much as long as I was bringing money in. His mother was “borrowing” money from us which I didn’t appreciate since I’d been to her home and knew she had a lot more than we did.

My cooking got better, and we had everyone over for Thanksgiving dinner (Shake ‘N Bake). He started going out more and more often without me. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. I was doing the laundry when I pulled a photo of a pretty blonde in a bikini out of his shirt pocket. I didn’t say a word when I handed it to him. He immediately stated, “It’s not what you think.”

We went to a birthday party in a dormitory for a friend of my husband. There were tons of people there. I was on the balcony smoking a cigarette and admiring the night sky when another female guest joined me, and we started chatting. Eventually she hit on me. I giggled and told her I was married, not interested. Every so often, some new person in my life will get it in their head that I’m gay and it always strikes me as funny. I don’t think I’m butch. I’m heterosexual. Anyway, on the way home, The Rock and I were laughing and talking about the conversations we had separately during the evening. When I told him about this exchange, he became enraged and accused me of WANTING TO SLEEP with her. What? I didn’t want to and how in the world can you accuse someone of WANTING to do something! Absurd. We parked in front of our quarters, walked across the grassy lawn, he opened the front door (we’re loudly arguing all the way in) and let me enter first. He put his hands around my throat from behind and I began gasping for air. He made accusations in my ear as he was choking me. I woke up the next morning in a heap, on the floor, in front of the front door.