Some of My Story: Emotional Abuse and Identity Theft

17 years old.  I was sitting in her living room, her hot breath on my face -- hushed words with so much intensity. I was told how ignorant, god-less, un-christian, "common"(rude), cruel, ungrateful, disrespectful, worthless, and evil I was. I was videotaped as I sobbed and shook and wished I could die. I was told that my school friends needed to see how their "Christian" friend and leader really acted. I was asked if I would be embarrassed to show my friends the "real" me. I was asked why I was crying and why I was angry. I'm a "lucky little bitch". EP explained to me calmly that if she knew she was going to die tomorrow and had nothing to lose, she'd kill me. She said she never thought that her "Monk" (the endearing nickname she gave me years before) would end up on her "hit list". I was told that I was the reason for my mom's sickness and strokes/seizures, for her outbursts, and rage, and thoughts of suicide.

I was finally left to sit alone. I wasn't allowed to speak or cry or move off the couch, because I would contaminate the rest of the house. I was disgusting.  -- A tiny house in the middle of the country, no streetlights, and the continued "conversations" that were meant to be heard through paper-thin walls about my worthlessness and cruelty. Then nothing. Just crickets outside in the black.

Hours later, my mom appeared and pulled me close. She laid my head on her lap, brushed the little hairs from my temples and told me how proud of me she was and how good I was.

And that's the night that I died.

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The summer before my senior year of high school. A normal time for uncertainties. A time for hopes and dreams, questions and fears. A time when the future is equally exciting and terrifying. A time when we most desire stability and belonging, when we seek direction and hope. 

After a years of constant family drama and a particularly severe year of emotional torment dur to my Mom's jealousy and anger about my Dad's engagement, I was forced to leave my school, my church, my best friends, my boyfriend, all of my positive influences. I left my leadership and service roles and every single person that knew me and respected me as a person. We moved out of state to live in a camper with my mom and my 7 year old sister in a secluded campgroud and later to EP's land in the middle of nowhere. No drivers license, no car, no freedom, no friends, no church, limited calls, if any. Definitely no contact with my Dad. We were "starting again", away from everything that she hated, no loved, no hated, no loved.

She thought that we needed counseling. But "we", meant me. If I would just let go. If I could just love her more. She couldn't understand why I didn't love her enough to be entirely happy about leaving everyone and everything. We sought counseling at a couple of little churches but once they actually caught on to what was happening, we would find fault and and stop going. The game would be played and apologies made for past boyfriends or behaviors or "working too much" but never admission or apology for the current situation. I was the only hurdle left in having a brand new life. 

A bad example to my sister ... a diva, a brat, cruel and callused, selfish, ignorant, uncaring, disloyal. A liar. The mental and emotional control went on for what felt like years. I had no right to be depressed or upset, angry or sad. I had no right to feel unless they were her feelings. No right to speak unless they were words that she wanted to hear. I felt like I had nothing. I didn't matter. I was either screamed at or completely ignored. My voice didn't matter. My opinion didn't matter. My emotions didn't matter. I had to shut down. So I did. I went into emotional hiding.

I prayed so much that summer. I walked to the campground playground when I could. I would sit swing and listen to praise music to try and find something bigger, hope. I was dying inside. Apparently my sudden silence (the weekend before my dad got remarried) was taken to be a "cry for help" and I was literally wrestled into the car and taken to the ER. The doctor prodded me with questions about my depression and "thoughts of suicide". I never threatened to, kill myself, I explained. I just didn't want to be tormented. I wanted normalcy, stability. I want to feel loved. I want to be away from my mom's 'friend'. But what my mom (apparently) heard from the doctor was quite different. "She hates you. She loves her Dad. She doesn't want to be with you."

The scratching squeak of the glass doors sliding open was the only thing I heard as we walked into the parking lot. No eye-contact. No words. Finally one word, not so hushed this time, "In". The door slammed behind me. A few moments of piercing silence, just the sound of the pouring rain on the hood, and then every word and name in the history of names.
"How could you tell some stranger lies about your family?!"
"You're lucky to be alive right now."
"You're lucky you weren't slapped shit-less in the parking lot."
"If this is what Christianity looks like, I don't want any part of it."
"No one wants to look at you because you're worthless." EP said in an eerily calm tone.

"You're dead to me", my mom finally said.

And for the first time in my life, I really wished I was.

We continued on to a laundry mat. --Just going about normal business while my mom stared off into the distance and pretended as though I didn't exist. I wept uncontrollably in the back seat. I could barely breathe. When the car finally stopped, I was asked why I was crying and told to "get it together" as to not embarass anyone. I obediently walked inside the laundry mat while being quietly berated with words. Fight or flight took over, I suppose, and I ran to the closed down gas station next door. I melted beside the pump, praying for God to have mercy on me and just kill me rather than torture me like this. They didn't follow. I paced the dark country street and considered stepping in front of a truck or walking to the motel a couple of blocks away to plead for help but history had taught that my lack of scars would lead to nothing but being put back in the same situation. So instead, I knelt down on the asphalt and prayed aloud to God to help me.

More than an hour later they loaded laundry and drove down the road past me, while I still sat by the pump at that gas station. They eventually came back for me because my 7 year old sister saw me and started screaming for me. They made me get back in the car and told me that they only cared where I was because they were responsible for me and "would be damned if they went to jail for some little bitch". We drove off into the middle of nowhere to that tiny hell-house with just trees and fields and darkness. So much darkness.

My innocence was slaughtered that day and my identity was stolen. I was left questioning who I really was, what value I really had, and what I could possibly offer anyone in life, especially God. I also wondered if I was actually insane. What I knew to be true was completely altered. Someone that once "loved me" added me to her "hit list" and and my own mother allowed this abuse to happen in front of her. What worth could I possibly have? My identity had been forever changed.

There is certainly much more to this story ... many more dark things but also great mercies fro the Lord. God did incredible things and wonderful people worked very hard and loved me so well through these times.

But my purpose in writing this is two-fold.
1. To work towards truth. And I can't work towards truth if I can't ever speak the whole truth. I feel things deeply and personally because those attacks were personal.  My "trust" issues are valid. My hardships may not be particularly blog-worthy or visible or memorial-able but they are no less real.
2. To encourage other people that my not have a "platform" or physical proof of injury, to know that they aren't alone. You are valuable. You aren't crazy (as much as certain people would like you to think you are). You are wholly loved.

Lots of people have written books and blogs about abuse, loss, addiction, tragedy... but I feel like emotional abuse is rarely spoken of because it's label-less. It's not a "platform" that's seen as acceptable or reasonable or truly tragic. It's messy, somewhat self-inflicted, continuous, and most who have experienced it don't ever get "past it" or away from the influence of their abuser. Like an addiction, it's always calling from the shadows.

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The wounds still haven't really healed. It's been more than 10 years and these scars can still be easily opened. I fight my own personal identity crisis daily. These things may have been brushed under the rug, buried beneath the surface, or never acknowledged but that doesn't make them less true and it certainly doesn't make them less painful or toxic.

I'm sure that many people will be quick to tell me to count my blessings and to be grateful I wasn't beaten or physically tortured. And I am thankful about so many wonderful things in my life that I certainly don't deserve. The truth doesn't negate thankfulness. There are people who would say it's best not to speak of these things but respectfully, not speaking of these things is just more isolation. Because until you've been in a place of mental and emotional chaos at the hands of people you believe love you, you don't understand. And to the abusers who refuse to acknowledge the things that happened, it's real. It's been very real for me these past several years and it has affected every single aspect of my life -- from my marriage to my children to my relationship with my sister to my aspirations and decision making abilities. But honestly, the worst of all is my spiritual life. You made me doubt things I never knew I could. I walk on eggshells in my own mind. I can't even be "good" without thinking that I'm probably doing it for the wrong reason.

I will never let you in fully, again. I will not let you hurt my family. I will try to protect those that I love against torment. I will not let you control my mind or my emotions. I will protect my boys, because that is what parents do, protect their children from harm. So instead of guilt-trips and conversations about forgiveness, lets converse about this... when you can acknowledge that all these things were done and said, then we can communicate. Until then, it's not actually a conversation... it's manipulation. 12 years and these sores still burn so wildly that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel the sting. I need to cut off the cancerous limb and all the twigs that have sprung from it.

I need to be able to tend to the true heart issues in my life. I need to hear the truth and believe it, good and bad. How am I supposed to work on issues when I'm consistently made to feel as though I'm insane? How am I to seek truth and believe the truth when I'm not allowed to speak about true things that happened?

I'm finished with being fearful of what people think and assume. I'm finished wondering if people understand me or really care about me. I'm finished second-guessing. I'm finished feeling crazy. My identity doesn't come from you or your friend. I know, in my mind, that you both were wrong, but my soul still feels tormented.

My faith needs to be greater than all the fears within me. I want to believe that God can heal even the invisible wounds. I have been wholly crushed and wholly lost but I know that I am wholly loved, if I accept it and believe it.

And that is my meditation for this year: Renewal. Revival. Truth.
I'm ready for this endless winter to be over and for spring to come once again.

13 Ways to Support Someone Who Has Been Emotionally Abused

If you know someone who is journeying through the depths of their thoughts and feelings after emotional abuse and you are unsure of what to do, this could a helpful resource for you.

Loving someone at their darkest and most vulnerable is really hard. Trying to help can be overwhelming and exhausting, especially if we haven't stood in those shoes before. But I wanted to offer a (non-exhaustive) list of things that may be an encouragement to someone in search of healing. These are all things that I wish my own abuser had heard when she was young. I think they could have made all the difference in the world.

I'm not a counselor or a therapist, I'm just someone who has walked in these shoes and is learning what my heart needs to hear most. Maybe these things could be helpful in your effort of loving and extending grace.
 
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Listen. 
Being heard is incredibly important in the healing process. Chances are that there have been years of being shut down, shut out, and misunderstood. See past the mask and understand that there is real and intense hurt.

Think about how you might advise someone who was being physically beaten on a daily basis and apply that to emotional abuse as well. 
Emotional abuse may leave no physical scars, but is no less harmful. Saying things like "at least you weren't" and "you need to toughen up" and "don't burn bridges" can be incredibly damaging.  The scars are deep and the the support is generally non-existent.

Affirm the most basic things.
The phrase, "I believe you" can go a long way.

Affirm (the believer's) identity in Christ.
But what does that really mean and look like? I've heard it over and over again and it never really make sense - until it made sense.
Affirm that the Holy Spirit is in them. Tell them that they can work towards trusting the voice of truth again. Affirm that the Lord is capable of healing and renewing. Affirm that where they feel weak and broken, the Lord is strong and powerful and is also a good and gracious Father.

Tell them that "It's okay to grieve". 
Even if that person is responsible for cutting ties or creating solid boundaries. It's still a loss. Grieving the loss of a relationship, a childhood, security, control is valid and necessary.

Tell them that "Every victory counts".
A step in the right direction is absolutely huge. Seeking help, allowing the hurt to rise to the surface, dealing with feelings as they come rather than stuffing them down is absolutely good.

Tell them that people can not give them the clarity that they so deeply desire. 
Lead them to helpful resources. Admonish them to find the truth and live according to those core truths. Living while listening to a constant committee of internal naysayers and conflicting thoughts is exhausting and depressing. Depending on other outside "voices" can be damaging in the search for truth. Listening to just a couple of trustworthy and wise counselors may be best.

Help them to find their vision and goals.
One of the hardest things when searching for clarity is choosing goals to meet. Achieving those goals requires grit and grace and ultimately falls on them.  But helping a friend prioritize their goals and find "vision" is a huge help.  (ex: personal and spiritual health, keeping their own family safe, doing the right and honest things.)

If you don't know what to say, saying, "I'm so sorry" is enough.
You may not know how to handle the situation and you may not be able to take on that type or amount of emotional burden.  Knowing your limits and knowing that you may not "know" is important too. Gentling guiding them towards a counselor (a safe place) where they can talk it through is great advice.  

Ask,"What can I do?" 
Don't be surprised if they say, "I don't know". They may be too overwhelmed to have an answer off the bat. Recognize that sifting through heavy emotional baggage is taxing mentally and physically. Maybe it's watching children or bringing a meal on occasion so they can attend counseling. Maybe it's giving them uninterrupted time to spend with God.  Maybe they need a couple hours of extra sleep. Maybe they need to just have fun, away from the emotional stuff, for a while. Offering to do [x,y,z] to lessen the burden so they can find help and safety makes a huge impact.


Keep trying. Keep encouraging. And also learn your limits.
Don't burn yourself out trying to hold someone up. Those who have been abused have years and year of baggage and confusion to work through. You can't be the hero, holding them up (along with that overwhelming weight) BUT a little note, an affirming word, a helping hand, can go a very long way in helping them feel valued and supported. The last thing someone wants to be is a burden. Do what you can but don't allow them to become too taxing for you. It's okay to rest. You can't fill anyone else up if you are empty. Creating healthy boundaries in your friendship may empower them to create healthy boundaries as well.

Be a source of truth. 
Those that have been abused have a hard time deciphering truth from lies. Be a source of honesty. Put advice through the filter of "is it kind and is it necessary" before speaking. The depth of a relationship will determine how well honest direction will go over.  I can not stress enough how important honesty and genuine concern can be. Do not exaggerate and do not compliment falsely. But if you have something sweet and uplifting to say, say it!  They can definitely use the boost ... even if they don't want to accept the positive encouragement.  It takes a lot of affirmation and positive reinforcement to replace the negative.

Recognize that the healing process takes time. Don't get annoyed when grief and pain doesn't go away quickly. Being sad doesn't mean that progress isn't being made. Tears can be healing. Time does not heal all wounds. But time and small victories do create a new normal. We are who we choose to be - just one step at a time.

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Dear Sweet Friends,
The simple fact that you took the time to read this list means so much. It's obvious that there is a great deal of compassion in you and a desire to understand. Sometimes there are no words or actions that can make things"better" when someone is hurting, but I want to encourage you that YOU are a key component in ending the cycle of abuse that can plague families for generations.

Your concern and care, your honesty and graciousness, are huge tools in helping someone get the help and healing they need. Showing someone they are valued and heard can be life-changing.  Someone like YOU can be what keeps someone from becoming an abuser someday. Even the most simple words or actions can be the seed of hope that a hurting heart needs in order to bloom again. Thank you for caring, thank you for trying. That is the best we can do, really. 

Safety is Important Too

It's a beautiful winter day. You and a group of good friends drive into the country and lace up your ice skates for a fun day on pond. You are leisurely skating when suddenly you hear a sharp crack and the glassy ice gives way, sending your friend plunging into the frigid waters. You rush to help her out of the water and onto solid ground. But what next? How do you save someone from freezing to death in the middle of winter, covered in ice water? If you don't take action quickly, they could lose all of their body heat and they could die from hypothermia. When the body can no longer regulate internal temperature, other measures have to be taken to get them warm ... and quickly.

Someone suffering from hypothermia couldn't get the warmth and healing they needed if part of them was still stuck in an ice-bath. Warming up requires stripping away the cold, wet, clothing and bundling up in thick warm blankets and drinking warm liquids. Warming up requires a lot of effort and absolutely no exposure to cold.

My point is ... sometimes the only way to real healing is by getting away from the cold. Sometimes healthiness and wholeness require warming up fully before ever allowing the cold back in.

This is like emotional abuse. At some point, someone who is abused can no longer regulate their internal thoughts and feelings without help. Putting truth into our brains can only get us so far. Putting blankets on top of icy, wet, clothing will only do so much. If we are piling truth and grace on top of layers confusion and anxiety, perhaps we aren't really treating the core problem after all.
 
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The hardest part about navigating the aftermath of emotional abuse, for me, is actually in the spiritual realm. The person that hurt me and failed to protect me is the same person that regularly spouts out bible verses. The person that turned my own brain against itself is the same one that "prays for me every day" and "wishes I understood".

It would seem as though these traits couldn't co-exist within the same person, but I assure you, they can. The one who is a master at manipulating and is capable of making me question my own reality (gaslighting) is the same one that consistently tells me that they are proud of the woman that I have become and don't understand why I'm so cruel and unfair. It's quite a contrast of mentality and an extraordinarily confusing place to live.

She "prays" that I can learn to forgive. She "doesn't know where this is coming from". She thinks that my behavior is unfair and uncalled for. She sends me texts and notes and letters explaining how God has changed her, how she "had to work through hard stuff too". She sends bible verses and bible story books to my kids and writes sweet notes about when I was a little girl. She wishes that I could "just work through my hurt and open up to her".

She has all the right words, and they often sound so nurturing and natural and sweet ... so why does it sting so deeply?  Why do words about God and faith,  forgiveness and love and "opening up" still hurt so terribly? Why do these words feel like slinging sand in a raw wound?

Because for years I witnessed her manipulate and blame, all while putting on a loving and helpful Christian front. I watched as she said one thing and did another. I watched the rage and the tearful meltdowns. I saw that reputation was much more important than integrity.

Why does it hurt? Because year in and year out, my feelings didn't matter. My opinions didn't matter. My best wasn't good enough. I was made to question who I was and if any of my efforts could be "good enough" for her ... and for God.

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I see this darkness and resentment in myself. I feel so ashamed of thinking so poorly and not offering grace upon grace to her when I offer it to others so much more easily. When I'm beside her in church, I feel the anxiety boiling up inside of me. Each little comment and nod and "amen" poking holes in the grace that I try to cover up my overwhelming anger with. When she stands next to me in church, hands raised in worship, or nudges me after the delivery of a sermon statement, I feel like throwing up. Not because she doesn't belong there but because it all feels like a lie. Because I have seen the other side. From small exaggerations to huge issues of integrity, she knows how to create the narrative that suits her best.

Why would I believe her notes about her unconditional love and devotion to family and God and prayer? Why would I believe, knowing what I know, that her words are honest and good and not full of manipulation and selfish ambition. Everyone else may not believe it, or see things for what they are, but I know what happened and continues to happen. I spent years believing and defending. I spent years trying harder and harder to win approval. I tried to be a better daughter, a better sister, a better example, a better christian. I never measured up and I had no escape from the constant mental and emotional push. But right now, safety is more important to my soul than reconciliation.

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We are all broken and in need of healing. We all fail and need the Lord's grace, and the grace of other's to function well and move forward. Without God's extraordinary grace and mercy, I would be condemned. Therefore, as a believer, the last thing I want to do is be destructive or cruel but when someone is an abuser, truth and caution have to reign.  At least for a while -- maybe long term.

I don't have an answer about how to put the resentment and hurt and anger to rest right now. I so wish that I did. I am working through it as more pieces of the puzzle come to light. Perhaps sometime in the future, the process of reconciliation can begin. But I have to get warm before I can be brave enough (and healthy enough) to go back towards that icy pond. And maybe the danger is too great to return. I'm not sure yet.

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Every situation and story is different. People are flawed and sinful and selfish, and grace is so necessary in forming and preserving loving relationships. BUT... being emotionally stable, and whole and safe is just as important.

For anyone reading today that is going through this process of anxiety, anger, disappointment, guilt ... I just want you to know that I'm in the trenches with you.
I am for you -- and you are not alone.

I indefinitely ended a relationship in order to preserve my emotional and mental stability. I don't regret it.  My life is calmer and my inner committee of critics are much quieter these days.  I have more space for good things because I made less space for the negative input.  I have more space for the truth because I've cut out the lies.

I'm growing. I'm learning. I'm actually "trying" less than I ever did before, but I feel more spiritually successful. And even the smallest victories count in overcoming the chaos inside my head and heart. Knowing my smallness in this area makes me appreciate God's greatness all the more. I can't. But He can. He is doing good things inside of this heart, just one piece and one small certainty at a time.

 

Perhaps someday I'll be stronger. I'll be able to separate the truth from lies and decipher and deal with false guilt and true shame as it comes. I hope that someday I can extend the same grace to her as I do to so many others. I can't wait for the day when I can feel confident enough to just "let it roll off my back" when something negative gets thrown my way. But right now, in this moment, all I can do is work on me and have faith that heart-change is coming.

Courage is Believing

Cutting ties. Calling out behaviors. Searching for truth. Praying against collateral damage.

I've been struggling with feeling incredibly selfishness for speaking out about many things recently. I have sought wise counsel and tried to approach things in an upright and factual way, as to not cloud my story with exaggerations or other perspectives. As you know, telling a story can leave us quite vulnerable. And stories have more than one character. In telling my story, I have to consistently find a balance between telling my story (not speaking for anyone else) while seeking truth in the most respectful and credible way that I can.

I've been anxious, and weepy, and searching for approval because deep down, I feel as though posting potentially harmful things is selfish, and cruel, and unnecessary. These terms aren't unfamiliar to me. I have had to constantly remind myself that honesty is not wrong. My truth is not malicious. And facts have a great power to heal (everyone involved). Speaking out and giving things fair labels is appropriate. Abuse is abuse. And, if I don't fill in the blanks, other people will, like they always have. Assumptions are powerful.

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Words like, "reconciliation is God's deepest will for families" and "burning bridges is a bad idea" are actually terribly confusing things to hear as a victim. They can knock us back into a place of deep unrest and make us feel falsely guilty for seeking change. While these concepts mostly come from the mouths of wonderfully kind and god-seeking people, it doesn't always make these words ultimate truth or particularly helpful.

The thing about a victims is ... we have probably tried (for years) to make peace in every other way imaginable. We have probably tried tirelessly to fix things, to keep bridges from burning, and to protect the people we love, even when those people unrepentant-ly hurt us. 

While concepts like reconciliation, honoring covenants (commitments and promises), staying loyal to family, and being respectful to ones parents are completely biblical and completely true, situations and scenarios can also change the way in which we approach these concepts.

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As Christians, our first response in all relationships should be to mend. We desire truth. We seek peace, we seek healing, we forgive, and we pray for those that "persecute us".  We are called to be the stronger, more gracious, more loyal people in our communities. When we are "slapped" [attacked], we offer the other cheek instead of returning the blow. That is what God desires for us and requires from us. That is courage. That is love. That is grace. 

However, sometimes our situations don't fit into a neat little box (often times they don't). And we are left trying to figure out where to draw our lines and create our boundaries for the sake of our own spiritual life and for our own righteousness.  Speaking solely from my perspective and from my experience (not speaking from God's mouth, or as a scholar, or teacher) ... I believe that there is a season for healing (like there are seasons for all other things). I believe that sometimes, the most righteous and loving thing we can do is tell the truth.

Sometimes covering sins (our own and the sins of others) with grace can actually be detrimental to growth. This is true across the board. Abuse happens behind the scenes. Sin hides in darkness. It hides in assumptions. It hides in half-truths. It hides in exaggeration and distortion.  It hides in places where the light is not allowed in. Sin can hide for generations upon generations without ever being brought to light and dealt with appropriately. Typically the (now) abusers were once the abused and their abusers were likely abused a generation before that.

Without truth, without transparency, without righteous anger, self-confrontation, and perhaps even public confrontation, these offenses will remain hidden and continue to poison beneath the facades of "family", "loyalty", "appropriateness", and "good Christian behavior". 

Courage is believing.  Courage is telling the truth. 

Willingness to speak the truth is brave.  Believing that that truth can heal (despite fallout and repercussions) is perhaps the bravest of all. 

Guilty

I feel guilty. 
All the time.
I feel blamed, useless, not good enough.  I feel as though I should be able to do more, handle more,  work faster, give more.  I should be capable of speaking better words, loving others better, being more encouraging. I should be "sweeter", more holy, more ...  More. More. More.  I feel as though I am responsible for fixing everything and keeping the peace, even when I'm not directly involved.  I feel deep down as though the problems and frustrations of others are a direct result of something that I did, or said, or didn't do.

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It's hard to remember instances where I was made to feel guilty or blamed (with specific words) in my earlier childhood years, partially because, children have a natural grace and innocence about them. But somewhere along the line, somewhere in the middle of extremely high expectations and harsh words of criticism, I started feeling the blame. I would cringe if I made a mistake or had any sort of accident (especially if I made a mess). I fully expected to be punished for being irresponsible, selfish, and/or stupid. I thought that when my sister behaved wildly (like children often do) it was a reflection on me. When my mom would cry, or rage, or get sick, it was because I created too much stress for her;  because I wasn't a good enough listener or because I couldn't fix the situation. This mentality definitely came to a head the summer before my 17th birthday, when I was specifically told that I was to blame for my mom's illness and stress and temper and exhaustion. Those words sealed my belief and still have a great impact on my life as an adult.

These days, sermons and messages feel like they are built specifically to attack me. I often find myself sitting in church, listening to a sermon about "respecting your parents", "keeping your family whole", "having healthy emotions" or "having a quiet and gentle spirit" and translating the message into something more along the lines of...
"reasons why [Lauren] is a terrible Christian"
"reasons why [Lauren] should never be a leader"
"reasons why [Lauren] will never be as righteous as [so-and-so]"
"reasons why [Lauren] is a terrible wife, and mother, and friend"
"reasons why [Lauren] is never going to be free"
"reasons why [Lauren] will never be enough" 

Those thoughts and feelings are a knee-jerk reaction to feeling faulty. When we are told over and over again how bad we are and how inferior we are, we begin to feel utterly defeated. But they. are. lies.

 I have to tell myself, "Not everything is about you."

Apparently, I say "I'm sorry" for all sorts of things. And I don't even realize that I do it most of the time. It's yet another subconscious (verbal) reaction to feeling like something is my fault. My father-in-law often comments on my quickness with apologetic words and it always get me thinking.  -- If I'm always sorry for everything, am I ever really sorry for anything real? It's relatively easy to flip from feeling guilty about everything to feeling guilty about nothing. It's important to seek the truth and distinguish between guilt and conviction.

The thing about sermons and advice is, they are meant to instruct. A heart can easily become unteachable because of the protective walls built around it (always trying to maintain any semblance of pride). It's self-preservation. The heart can also easily be crippled and crushed because words feel like knives. They feel personal and cut straight to the core.  And because abuse causes us to generalize negatively about ourselves, we also tend to generalize and draw conclusions that maybe weren't meant for us.

"It's not about you being detestable, [Lauren]."

"It's about you being a human-being in need of direction, and mercy, and grace."

"It's a call and challenge to be better, not an accusation."

I have been trying to label my feelings so that I have a better grasp of how to handle each of them as they arise. It's often difficult for me to decipher between guilt and true conviction. How am I supposed to know when I am making myself feel bad, and when I am being led to make positive changes?

Generally (here we go with that word again), I am learning that conviction is different than a false sense of guilt. Conviction is that small whisper, those daily self-audits, that help us to align our goals with our current actions. It is honest, but generally kind. The goal of conviction is to encourage positive change. It wants us to become better, more whole, more holy, as a result of seeking Christ. 

Guilt, on the other hand, is usually a deafening voice. It's an aggressive, repetitive, growl of ridicule. It can rarely be escaped or made silent, even with modified behaviors. Guilt from the enemy is a thought pattern and a cruel cycle of destructive thought. These thoughts and feelings are not useful for building up. That wicked voice of guilt is cold, and isolating, and purposeless, and chaotic. And it can not be the voice controlling us.

Unchecked and unheard "conviction" (I'm sure) can also become pretty loud. But, I trust that if I am really seeking what is right (and paying attention to what and who I'm listening to) the truth will be brought to light.

I am constantly fighting between feeling and believing, emotion and fact. It's an exhausting battle between believing what experience has taught and what truth really is. I have to remind myself daily (on a minute by minute basis, even) to be careful who I'm listening to.  And I have to remember that despite constantly feeling defeated, I have to keep those "walls of pride" in check as well.

In the words of C.S. Lewis, [Mere Christianity]

"True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less."

To the Label-less Sufferer

Emotional and mental abuse creates scars with no obvious physical ailments, with no "appropriate" stories to share, and no discernible villains to put behind bars. There is little help and little closure. Labels help us categorize and compartmentalize things in our lives. But suffering can't often be labeled and tucked into neat little boxes. We experience and we process but . . .

Emotional and mental abuse breaks our "processor". Emotional abuse strikes in a particularly vicious way, making us question our own identity.  Our head begins to question even the most basic matters of the heart. The constant psychological stress and continued searing pain of contempt exhausts our spirit. It poisons all of our thoughts and either makes us cynical or so idealistic that, in our minds, it's impossible to be anything less than perfect. One's own judgment and knowledge becomes a casualty of war.

One of my first steps in seeking truth and healing is learning to label. Labeling helps me see things as they actually are rather than how they are through the eyes of someone else. As I go on this journey of discovery and truth, I want to be able to share the ups and downs, progress and setbacks. Hopefully it will help someone else in their journey ... or help a friend reach out to someone they know.

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Here are some thoughts, lessons, and labels I have learned over the years [and am still working through if I am being completely honest]: 

Speaking about abuse is not disrespect. It is not ungratefulness or pride or harsh judgment. It is coming to terms with the facts. It's putting your emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being as a top priority.

Healing from abuse requires support. Unlike many other sufferings, this form lives within the mind and heart only. It's hard to be supportive about something that we aren't familiar with, haven't experienced, or can't see. But trying ... that is what really counts. Someone that has suffered at the hands of an identity thief [abuser], really needs affirmation. It can take a long time for the light to win.

Working through abuse is not living in the past or dwelling on the bad. Overcoming distorted views requires digging through the garbage. It required picking through things that are rotten and fraudulent while searching for everything that is ethical and honorable and honest.

It's grief. It's fear. It's doubt. It's distrust. 
It's questioning. It's uncertainty. It's confusion. 
It's identity. It's vulnerability. It's personal.

It's mistrusting everyone and everything, including yourself. It's being unable to trust that you are capable of hearing Gods will and making well informed choices. It's assuming that people really do think the worst of you. It's fearing that the cycle of abuse will continue with you. It's constantly second guessing every feeling, option, choice, intention. It's making yourself sick by playing through all the scenarios and realizing the main component of contention and concern is ... you. It's hard.

Abuse makes you certain of only one thing, that you are the problem. You are not enough. You are failing. You are destructive. You are unwanted and you are deplorable. It's being bound by invisible chains that make asking for help, needy and not asking for help, foolish. It's about hating who you are, how you got here and how you are thought of.  It's about never living up to expectations. It's seeing love and acceptance as a direct result of action and effort.

"You can do anything you put your mind to" they say ... but your mind is a mess. You feel crazy, misunderstood, and misinterpreted. You live and love in a constant state of emotional exhaustion. You overthink everything. Everything. You desperately want to be accepted for who you are, but you aren't really sure who that is or who that should be. Church sermons designed to correct bad behavior feel designed and directed at you. Harsh advice breaks your heart and shatters your emotional stability. Every comment penetrates to your core, not because it's cruel or wrong or even meant for you but because you believe every bad trait and character flaw is you, defines you. It can take years to recover from a stray comment that further confirms your weaknesses and fears. Compliments are usually rejected until they begin to outweigh the heaviness within your heart.

Emotional turmoil is never really knowing what you are good at. It's insecurity. It's constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for love to become conditional. It's remembering that your feelings don't really matter. It's knowing that your perspective isn't valid or valued. It's hating manipulation but falling for it every time because you hate discord and desire to please. It's complete vulnerability. It's the risking bearing your soul or becoming an impenetrable fortress. It's cold and it's isolating. It's helpless. It's infuriating. It's worth weeping over.

It makes crying shameful and anger invalid. It makes boundaries impossible. It makes anxiety the primary emotion. It makes mountains out if molehills. It makes lions into lambs and lambs into vicious lions. It makes you prey. Prey to your own thoughts, your own fears, and others' assumptions. It always keeps true love at a distance.

Suffering is hard, no matter who, and why, and how it happens. We experience loss and hardship, broken dreams and broken promises. We question who we are and who we want to be.  We question authority. We question spiritual matters and ultimate truth. We wonder if we are failing and we consider life on greener pastures. 

The main thing about suffering is ... it takes time to heal. It takes strength. And it requires divine intervention. It requires freedom from the bondage of emotional and spiritual darkness. It requires a new identity. It requires a healer.

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To the label-less sufferer, 

God sees you. He wants to make your heart whole and full. He will fight for you. You are loved. You are known. You are wanted.