Healing (still)

Last October, after I attended The Relevant Conference, I started a series of posts here dealing with emotional healing and pruning spurred by God’s messages in my life.

The whole series, in order, is here.

 

“Going back in order to go forward is something we must do in the context of community…”

This is the community I choose.

I have no clue how it will end.

It didn’t really end. I just stopped writing. I didn’t intend to. But Spiritual Battles started on every front.

Here–the warning for what was to come. Then my Mac crashed. I started Visual Prayer workshops, I was invited to write for a new blog, my art started selling, I was asked to write for a blog I’d long admired, our PC crashed–so we had no working computer in the house, betrayal occurred, Phil was fired, we had to move, pack, unpack, settle in, Phil had to find a new job…

and since Phil’s termination and our move God has only given me two words: Protection and Provision.  Which are good words, full of meaning. But (there’s always a but) I was confused. Confused about God’s leading, I think I misunderstood. I thought He meant something maybe He didn’t really mean. or something. But I didn’t know what and He was silent. And I was anxious. I prayed. We tried a new church (it was awful) I prayed more, I did Visual Prayer, but nothing.  I felt God was still being silent.

Things from the past started surfacing. Emotional things, but not about family this time, about friends (or so-called friends) the ones who have deeply wounded me, scarring my soul as much as my family did.  Family doesn’t happen by choice, friendships pretty much do…so the pain caused by the betrayal  of people who choose to be in your presence makes one feel used, worthless,

it sucks.

And everything all those people did to me played over and over in my head. I talked a little about it, but mostly just kept it in and prayed.

prayed for an attitude adjustment

I didn’t understand, though, why all the hurt was resurfacing. My first thought was I was under spiritual attack again.

It was a comment in a text that made me stop.  “Maybe  attack, but also maybe God bringing wounds to the surface for healing?”

and then I remembered the series I’d started last October.  Then my Twitter feed lit up with chatter about The Relevant Conference this month, the one I’m not going to, but desperately want to attend.  Last year I didn’t want to go and I had complete sponsorship. This year I feel such an overwhelming urge to go and have nothing and no means to make the ends meet.

I’ve spent the morning reading every single post I’ve linked to today and my heart is heavy because I understand God is still working on me, still pruning (and it hurts) and still healing (and it hurts)

I honestly forgot I wrote all these things. I’ve read my words today and cant’ believe I wrote them.

And, as I said above, I don’t know how this will end…

Growing Up Dysfuctional

I’ve been thinking. And yes, you probably should be scared.

Scott is starting a series today about his things that have happened to him. Today’s post was about when he left home. At 13.  I’d commented to him that I should follow his lead and tell some stories in February. He followed Karla’s lead, telling how she was betrayed by Alli Worthington, the founder of the blogging conference, Blissdom.

And if you remember, I started to tell my story awhile ago.  Remember these from October?

In the first (long) series:

Sometimes Things Don’t Turn Out As I Planned
Shepherds Aren’t Always Nice
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 1
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 2
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 3
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 4
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 5
How Things Come Together When God Tries To Get My Attention Part 6

Then there was this one in January, about my Toxic Family.

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None of this is for pity or popularity (can you imagine? Hey! My dad beat me and my great grandfather sexually abused me while my grandmother drank herself to a big bloody mess on her basement stairs and my uncle killed himself–make me popular! Ugh.)  No. That’s not what it’s about.

Sometimes, there aren’t easy answers.  I tried therapy and the shrink wanted to drug me. I don’t need drugs. I need some resolution. I need to say these things because from what I can tell, most of my family acts like this stuff doesn’t exist, like it never happened. And I’m kinda sick of pretending. I’ve never been good at it.

One of the hardest parts is deciding where to start. With my mom’s father? The tabu subject. The man who had an affair with his sister-in-law. Not just an affair, but fathered two children and committed bigamy (married his sister-in-law while still being married to his wife, my grandma.)  Or with my mom’s mom who threatened on a regular basis to stick her head in the oven and said daily, “I just wish I was dead.”

Or maybe with my dad’s mom who, upon his return from Vietnam, spit on him on the doorstep of their family home?

Or maybe with my dad’s PTSD from Vietnam combined with being bipolar (or did the PTSD cause him to become bipolar?) Maybe when he started calling me a slut? Or maybe when he held the crossbow to me and threatened, “I brought you into this world, I can take you out!”

The pieces of the story that would make things complete are missing from most of these stories. In the last 5 years, a lot of people have died in my life.  So I have memories. Some of which may be spot on, some of which may be skewed by a scared little girl’s emotions or warped by an angry teenaged-girl’s fight or flight instinct.

If you are part of my family and are reading this…it is what it is. It’s what I remember.

The residue of which I have carried to this place.

I’m putting it down starting this second.