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. 

A Critical Spirit

An encouraging voice or a critical one? That is a question I've been asking myself a lot recently,  regarding the 'voices' I've been listening to and the voices that escape my mouth (and fingers as I type).

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We don't typically mean to be critical but our judgment usually shows our heart just the same. Sometimes we tear others down because we feel bad about ourselves. Sometimes we point out flaws because we would rather direct attention away from our own. And sometimes we are just proud. Plain and simple.

I am so guilty of this. I would like to think that much of my sin comes from underlying feelings of unworthiness, and that's probably true to an extent, but I also have to face the facts. Being a follower of Christ requires that I take responsibility for my own temptations and poor judgment. Intention does not neutralize impact. Harshness makes us unattractive, especially to those that do not know Christ.

When my words are harsh and my attitude is demanding, I am thinking of myself as better than others. I am failing to see the person, failing to see potential, and trying to orchestrate change in the wrong way. That's the truth.

We all do it. ... while driving, while working, while sitting in church. We even use social media to to push perspectives and criticism.  Women, I think, are particularly skilled in this area. Most of us are very good at, uh, knowing it all.  I know I am. [insert laugh here].

We have our own ways (we call that independence). We have the wisest words (we call that teaching). We have knowledge and experience to advise (we call that correction and discipline). We gossip about other people, "bless her heart" (we call that conversation). The way we label it sounds pretty good, but our true intentions might label it differently. Might. I only know where my own heart falls short.

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I wanted to share some things that I have been meditating over because I know that I can be ugly sometimes. It's a heart problem. It's a pride problem. -- It's a problem. Let's leave it there. -- And I know that heart change doesn't necessarily require knowledge (of mind) it requires a willingness to grow. It requires teach-ability and it requires a spirit of humility.  Even the most seasoned preachers and most knowledgeable scholars have things to learn. Information can come from all sort of people in all sorts of positions, in all walks of life. Some of the most valuable lessons I've learned are from some of the most broken people.

Perhaps unity as the body of Christ is achieved through listening to one another. There is no place for cruelty in the church. We speak in love and we speak with conviction, but not at the expense of respect. A body can easily be torn apart and broken down by the cancer of criticism.

Knowledge isn't everything. It's attractive, commendable, and necessary ... but knowledge doesn't win the heart, only love and respect can do that.

With respect to my personal life, I like to think of myself as a critical thinker. I have a lot of thoughts and visions and plans and hopes. And I do try very hard to make people see my point because I feel very strongly about the power of grace in ones life (my life). I also like to win.  And I know that at times, I have sacrificed my sweetness.  And for that I am sorry. As it turns out, I'm less of of "critical thinker" and more of a "critical stinker", a lot of the time.

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Here are a couple of differences, that I've been meditating on, between "constructive" criticism (critical thinking) and having a critical spirit:

Critical Thinking sees potential
A Critical Spirit finds fault

Critical Thinking asks questions
A Critical Spirit makes assumptions

Critical Thinking desires understanding
A Critical Spirit wants to be right

Critical Thinking desires growth
A Critical Spirit expects perfection

Critical Thinking appreciates differences
A Critical Spirit devalues other perspectives

Critical Thinking offers grace first
A Critical Spirit offers discipline first

Critical Thinking acts as an advocate
A Critical Spirit acts as [the] judge

Critical Thinking is respectful
A Critical Spirit is arrogant

Critical Thinking is responsive
A Critical Spirit is insensitive

Critical thinking sees the big picture

A Critical Spirit has tunnel-vision

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I want to be better; for my family and for the people I come into contact with. I want to be a light.


It's hard to know how to find balance grey areas.

What do you think? Do you have a way of drawing the line in your life?

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.