scared!

scared, did it take? did God change my heart? how do I know? how different should I feel? Had a situation where I wanted to close shop...put the walls back up...I thought, this is why I don't share...but then I stopped and said no, I cannot close my heart. I want to recieve love. (btw, hate the word receive, never can remember which way it is spelled) I had to talk myself through that panic attack and talked myself into remaining open to intimacy and open to receiving love. I don't know. Just want to receive God's love.

This has no title!

So, I finally got on my knees and asked God to heal that part of my heart that can't feel love. That is deeply afraid of intimacy. The part of my heart I haven't wanted anyone to see or touch. The part of my heart that believes I am unworthy, I am no good, I am not pretty enough to wear the diamond necklace Ava gave me. The part that works overtime to hide the fear. The part that wants everyone else to feel deeply loved, they way I desire, yet am too afraid to allow. The part of my heart that screams desperately to be loved, but blocks it all from coming in because it would be too painful to accept. Since I wrote my last post I realize I have had less and less patience with my parents, I have had less and less grace for them, less and less have I wanted to be in their presence. I kept pondering, was this me going hom rogue, without God? I mean, why am I getting less and less tolerant of them, instead of more and more?!?! I guess God just wasn't going to let me get comfortable where I stopped, He wants all of me and I finally want him in that place of me that hurts so bad and is so scared. I knew that I needed him in this place when my sister told me that Ava loves me so....and I was so sad, because I wanted to be able to feel her love for me. I want to sense His blessing on my life. I want to know that I am somebody. I want to know that I am special. I want to know that I am needed. I want to know that I am wanted. I want to know that I am precious. I want to know that I am being blessed just for who I am. I want to accept affirmation from others that I am ok. I want a great capacity for emotional intimacy. I want to look at God as a loving, heavenly father who wants to bless me, just because I am me. I want to reach out to others with a new level of authenticity. I know that a genuine loss has occurred in my life, I never had the things from a parent that a child is supposed to get. Like the child who asks his parent to play darts and says, I'll throw them and you say, good shot! That is what I missed. That is what I need. And now, that is what I want. I knew God was asking me this, and I just felt it would hurt to much to get on my knees and open up that part of me and offer it to him, to lay it at the foot of the cross. But when I did, I didn't weep uncontrollably, I didn't feel excruciating pain, I didn't feel all the loss. I just felt peace. And I thought...oh no, God's not here. He's not going to help me. And so I sat on my knees and told him I would stay there all night, I wasn't leaving until he met me here and until he took this from me and made it his. And still no excruciating pain, just unfamiliar peace. And so I said, I confess, I hate them, I am sorry, please forgive me, ok, I do I hate them. Now please come, heal my heart, finish this, allow me to receive your love, allow me to receive love from others. And nothing, just a quietness and a peace, where to me it felt like his absence because I was sure that I would cry and cry and it would be so full of pain to do. And still today, I think, do I have to fast? What do I have to do?!! And then I hear, that's the point, you needn't do a thing, you came to Me and now it's mine. And I think, how do I test it out?!??! God's peace and love are not earned. They are given freely because he loves me just as I am. He created me with all the qualities I have. And for the first time I can say, I want true, deep abiding, intimacy. Part of me I guess still thinks I will get that from a husband, which I may, but humans fail, humans come short, God does not. And I don't want to be a wife who needs that constant reassurace from her husband. I want to trust God's love for me and trust my husband's love for me. I want my heart to be whole. I want me heart to be able to receive love. I want to receive love. I want to receive it. I want love. This is what I have next to my bed right now....

I accept God's love for me
God is in control
Through Jesus I am clean in God's sight
I release my fears to Jesus
I claim the joy of being God's child
Because God loves me, it's ok to be incomplete
I accept God's healing of painful memories of my past
No matter what happens, I trust God is working for my good
In Christ it is ok for me to be myself
Because God has forgiven me, I can forgive others
I am blessed.

The Blessing

I had an epiphany. I knew this was the problem, I just didn't have the words to express it. Especially I had confusion because I knew I had forgiven my parents and my words for what I felt were, what do I do with the continuing hurt they give? And if I forgave them, why do those memories still bring tears to my eyes? If it still hurts have a really forgiven? And I like in this b0ok that he said it will still hurt and you just work through those things as they come, sometimes you experience new pockets of pain and when those come, you work through them. And that's ok. That gave my heart such a relief. He was specific about one day at a time. Working through present feelings in the present. I feel good about that.

The next thing he talked about was "The Blessing". When I think of the blessing, I always think of Jacob and Esau. Anyways, in a healthy family, children receive the blessing from their parents from the day they are born.

You are somebody.
You are special.
You are needed.
You are wanted.
You are precious.

I know, especially, when I typed that, I can't help but cry, and know that is what I am missing. And when I say, I can know someone loves me....but I can't feel it. Unless I am in a vulnerable state and if I can feel it, it just makes me weep and weep. Like it's nice to hear, but it's not me. It's not meant for me, it's not true.

The epiphany came, that I am still seeking the blessing from my parents. A place where it is never going to come from. I'm like a bird who flies into a window, goes back up to the tree, tries again and flies into the same window, again, and again and again. The result is just becoming more battered, more weary and believing that it isn't meant for me.

Any blessing I received from my parents was either withheld, distorted, conditional or partial. I think that's a reason I get so disappointed when I have finished visiting with them. I am hoping for something that isn't ever going to come.

I am still seeking love and approval from two dysfunctional people who even if they wanted to give it, couldn't ever give it in the way I need.

I need to stop seeking the blessing where I cannot find it. I need to stop battering myself into the window, over and over again.

It is not going to happen. It hurts. I am sorry it isn't going to happen. It sucks. But it is not going to happen.

I need to grieve the missing blessing. Which is perhaps what I do after each time I am with them?!?! I need to grieve and let go. I need to evaluate the fantasy I must have with my family, and what will happen this time I am with them. I need to adjust my expectations when I make contact with them.

So I need to seek the blessing outside my family of origin. This will take much prayer to prepare me to hear it and to accept it. I need to find healthy ways to seek out the blessing from God and from friends.

This will take some prayer and some work. It is nice to have a name to my suffering. God is good.

Forgiveness

My book says this....

You say you have forgiven, but occassionally something happens to remind you that all is not well in your relationship with the person you are supposed to have forgiven. Surprising feelings of anger or depression may pursue you. You have skipped an important prerequisite to forgiving: acknowledging the intensity of the hurt you experienced.

The hurt I experienced was traumatic. It was harmful to my soul. It was extremely painful. It is awful to be hurt by the people who are supposed to love you no matter what. And you begin to believe that something is wrong with you, if the people you have an automatic love card with don't even love you. It must mean there is something wrong with me, something fundamentally unlovable. I was abused. I was abused physically as well as verbally. At the dinner table once, with my grandpa, we were having such a nice dinner and my dad made the comment to my sister and I..."like how you two were abused"....I nearly choked...he was admitting it, what was this? and my sister said, abused?? what abuse? what are you talking about? And the earth moved under me, I looked at my dad and he looked right at me and I just looked back down at my plate. And for a long time, I questioned myself...am I crazy? Why did my sister just say that? I don't know, we didn't ever talk about it. But it has scared me some, because many of my memories are fuzzy or I don't remember them the way my sister remembers them. Regardless, I grew up in a painful environment. An environment, that to this day, years and years later, still brings me to tears thinking about it. It was wrong. It was harmful. I came away damaged. Scared. Ashamed. Angry. I hated living there. I hated what they did or didn't do. I hate that little girl was standing in the mirror asking to be loved, to be affirmed and her mother walked away and called her stupid. I hate that part of my heart feels blocked off. I have to come to a place of forgiveness knowing I may never get acknowledgement from my parents. Not an I'm sorry. Nothing. I have to forgive them, for my own well being. I have to forgive them without making excuses for them about any cycles they may have repeated. I have a choice to repeat this cycle or do the hard work to end it. Without their acknowledgement. They had a choice too.

I ran away hurting deeply. No one should ever have to experience the things I experienced. The true impact of what happened to me, is that I came away a different person than I was meant to be. I came away a scared, insecure, hurting person. All I have ever wanted is to be loved. I used to think I wanted 5 children and I wanted them all to be boys...because boys were always good to their mothers and how could I not feel loved with 5 boys of my own? I came away a person afraid of true intimacy, afraid that I would ask someone to love me and they wouldn't love me back. I came away, afraid to meet new people, no one was going to like me. I still feel shy and stifled in new situations, because no one is going to like me, anything I would have to say is worthless.

I came away so hurt, that I would be a freak when visiting my sister, afraid to do or say something wrong, not because of her, I realize now, but because she might decide not to love me back either and I think I couldn't handle that because I need her to love me, even more so because my parents didn't.

I never tried to learn how to play chess, thinking I wasn't smart enough to learn it and be able to play it. But really, because I believed the messages my parents gave me...I was stupid and chess was a game for smart people, not stupid people.

the pain, is real and deep and like layers of an onion. It happened and it was damaging, to my belief in my self, to other relationships, to fearing intimacy...

I invite Jesus into my pain, to soothe it, to heal it, to change it.

technology, arrgh!

I just spend a good two hours, just going through painful memories, to only lose my internet connection, to be thrilled to see it in drafts still and then to see only one paragraph out of about 12. grrrr.

Going through painful memories

We had a swim team banquet. Bryan was one of our assistant coaches. He wasn't much older than I was. He was really into computers, as was my mom. He came and sat next to my mom at the banquet and they talked about computers the whole night I guess. When we got home a terrible fight ensued with my parents. My dad was enraged that my mom let Bryan sit next to her and that she talked to him so much. I think my dad was pretty much accusing her of having an affair with Bryan. It was a big and scary fight. I can remember my sister sneaking into my room. We sat next to each other on my bed, not speaking, just right next to each other scared to death. On some level, I thought my dad was capable of killing my mom. I just remember being so scared. I remember hearing my mom come upstairs and go into her closet. I could hear things banging. I just knew that she had gotten her suitcase down and was leaving. I went to sleep absolutely convinced that my mom would be gone when I got up in the morning. I could barely breathe. She was there in the morning. And no one said a word about the fight, everyone just pretended like it didn't happen.





When we were both home from college at one point, my sister and I were home alone. I can't recall if we had argued or what had happened, but my sister freaked out. She was screaming that she was leaving, she was never coming back, she got out a bag to start packing. I was so scared, I didn't know what to do. She even tried to go out the second story window. Once she finally calmed down we talked about her going to see a counselor at school because it would be free.

My dad had a rifle in the front closet. I always had it in my mind that he would kill me with it. If he was going out with the dogs and had it out propped against the wall so he didn't forget it, my first thought would be a gasp and is today the day he kills me?

My father tried to force me to register to vote. My mom's job was up on a referendum. He sent people to register me to vote to the house and I sent them away. My mother, for the first time in my life said, just wait until your father gets home. I was worried sick then. Once he got home I got called down from my room for a long, long evening in the living room. I don't know how he didn't have an aneurysm, his vein in his forehead was so big, it looked like it would just explode. He started with yelling and screaming to get his way....telling me I would vote yes for this referendum. I explained calmly, that I would take his opinion into consideration and I would make my own decision. This infuriated him even more. I, for some reason, took this very seriously, that he could not force me to vote for something. I told him that what if this referendum has something I don't agree with? Like it keeps my mom's job but also cuts off every third person's legs? How could I vote yes for something just because it kept my mom's job. He was so mad. He then went the route that obviously I didn't love my mother if I was not going to vote for her to keep her job. And I just kept calmly repeating, I would take into consideration everything he said and then I would make my own decision. He then told me he wouldn't want to, but if he had to, he'd have to ask me to get out of the house, that I wouldn't have a place to live or anything to eat if I didn't do this. I don't know how that evening came to an end because I never agreed to vote. However, the next day, I was so scared. I mean I had no place to go, what would I do, would he really kick me out?? So I went crying all the way there, and crying all the way home, to register to vote. I can remember screaming and crying and banging my hands on the steering wheel. I didn't tell anyone I had done it. I didn't want to give my dad that satisfaction, but I had it just in case I needed it. I had no idea that a registration card comes in the mail. I brought in the mail that day, I would have gotten it had I known to look for it. My dad found it and said...aw...you registered...what a good girl you are and came over to hug me. I could feel more of myself die in that instant, just shrink up, shrivel up. It makes me nauseous just recalling it. And the crazy thing is, that was the end of it, there was never any mention of voting or going to vote, I never knew anything else about it. My mom did keep her job. No thanks to me.

When I was small, maybe 1st grade or smaller. My mom had gotten my sister new clothes and I hadn't gotten any. I asked why...my mom said because I got them all tomyself for three years before she was born so now they had to love her more to make up for that.

There was some drama my jr year in college on the swim team. I feel like I know where it came from but could do nothing about it and as a result was kicked off the swim team. I was so disappointed. My dad was angry and without my knowledge called the swim coach. And then called me to tell me he had set up a meeting for me to go meet with her. I explained that I would not go meet with her, I had no desire to hear what she had to say. He then exploded about me putting his good name on the line and how I WOULD go see her. I said no I wouldn't. He then threatened me. He was screaming so loud I had to take the phone from my ear and could still hear him loud and clear and lucky for me so could my roommate. So embarrassing. He told me that if I didn't that he would be up at school shortly and he would beat the shit out of me, he would kick my ass from one side of campus to the other. I don't know how that phone call ended. I did not go meet with the coach and I lived in fear for awhile, jumping every time there was a knock on the door. I was more than sure my dad would be up to school to do just as he promised.

One fall at school, I had a sundress on. Someone said, hey what's that on your arm. I lift my arm and on the underneath of my bicep is a perfect hand print bruise. I was horrified. I didn't even know it was there.

In second grade, I was so sad. I felt like no one loved me, no one liked me. I stood in front of my mirror one day crying and talking to that poor girl in the mirror, that no one loved me, no one liked me. My mom was downstairs on the phone. I heard her say hold on a minute and come up the stairs. My door was closed all but an inch, I heard her stop outside my door but we couldn't see each other. I was scared, but I took a chance, what will mom do? I repeated, crying that no one loved me and no one liked me. I heard my mom turn and go back down the stairs and I heard her say on the phone...oh nothing, just jennifer being stupid. She didn't fling open my door, she didn't rescue me, she didn't say that was wrong, I love you...she just said I was stupid.

Good Things God has done in my life

He provided me a job in SC so I could move far away and get out of that house.

He put my sister and me together and helped us build a new relationship, separate of them.

He has given me good friends.

He has used me to bless others.

He has given me friends that have good strong marriages, in order that I may see good examples of healthy marriages and healthy families.

He has provided me with a place to live, food to eat, a car to drive.

He has placed me in a great church.

He has given me wonderful opportunities to grow and experience new things like Boundary Waters and Aspen.

He continues to love me regardless of the "rules" I follow.

He gave me Lucy.

He blessed my sister and her husband with a baby girl, which in turn has also been a blessing to me.

He has answered prayers.

He healed my sister.

He has helped me to walk away from toxic situations that I have put myself in, to not remain fiercely loyal in a bad situation.

He has helped me heal in so many ways already.

He loves me uncondotionally and never withholds his love from me.

Dad

What you did to me....

You hit me when you couldn't control me

You hit me when you were angry and rageful

You threatened and intimidated me

You called me names

You told me I was gaining weight and made me take diuretics

You would't allow me to talk if the tv was on

You didn't allow thoughts or opinions, at all, and even less if they didn't match yours

You degraded me

You stripped my of my self worth, confidence

The worst was the hug and the I'm sorry later, that always made me want to hurl and I could feel myself shrink more and more each time.

You made life very unstable, never knowing when everything would blow

You caused such disappointment when the garage door would open, not knowing if you were coming in happy, or coming in throwing things and screaming.

You were a mean, mean man

You have caused in me a fear of authority...so much so that if my boss requested my presence in her office, I felt like I needed to puke. I am thankful to God, that I am free of this, it's a good feeling to be free.

You have caused in me a fear of intimacy

You have caused a general fear in my life

You have caused me to fight depression on different occasions in my life

You would withhold your love from me to manipulate situations and when that wouldn't work you would use harsh words and hands

Because of you, I am afraid to be married.

You have caused me to not like myself

You have caused me to eat to deal with my emotions

You have caused a lot of heartache and pain in my life.

You are a mean, mean man.

Thankful

Sitting in my sister's living room, the week before she got married. We were making wedding favors and she says to me, I was so angry with you when you moved away.

I was blown away when she told me. I had no idea. I told her how sorry I was, I never meant to leave you, I just didn't think about anything, I really just ran as fast as I could, as far as I could. And she said she understood, she wasn't mad anymore.

I think once my sister and I went to college, that was it, we were out of there...you know? That whole survival thing. And I knew for a long time that my sister didn't want anything to do with them and that included me, I was lumped together with them. I am so thankful that she has moved past that and I am my own lump, separate from them. I am so glad about that. I cherish my relationship with her. If I could, I think I would talk to her everyday. I love her more than anything else in the whole world and I am so, so proud of her. I am proud of the life she has made for herself. I am just proud. And I am so thankful to have a relationship with her today.

Beauty for Ashes

God, please take these ashes and replace them with Your beauty.

first weekend home from college

The first weekend I came home from college my mom came to pick me up. I remember the middle of the drive vividly. We were in the silver van with maroon interior. My feet were up on the dash. We came to the only stop sign on the road. Where I believe if you turn on that road you'd go to the outlet mall now. After going through the stop and getting past the barn on the left my mom crushed me. She said, you know, since you have gone away to school....wow...I feel like I can barely write this....Now that you're gone, your dad is being mean to your sister since you're not there and THAT is all your fault for leaving.

What does someone do with that? I mean the only person in the world I would never want to hurt, what was I to do with that. I was crushed. The war that went on in my mind, the horror that I would have caused my sister to go through what I had gone through, the fact that I wasn't there to protect her, that there was nothing I could do, the fact that my own mother, the person who is supposed to love me and care for me, is blaming her husband's abusive behavior towards my sister on me, to this day I am flabbergasted by that. Because I mean, if she's blaming me and it's my fault..then to fix it, I would have to place myself back in that position so that my sister would be free. Something like this instantly changes you in the depths of your soul. My mom is mad that I am not at home getting abused. She's not even the mom that says, listen, things are getting worse, don't come back, save yourself! If my mom is mad that I am not the scapegoat anymore, she can't even possibly love me at all. The realization that my mom can't love me and the horror of knowing my sister was stuck there without me. My only regret ever, of leaving there, was that my sister was still there. I know logically, it was my only option. I know I had to leave to save myself. But there is always deep, deep regret that there was nothing I could do for my sister. That she had to be there all alone. And there was nothing I could do and I am so sad and sorry about that. And then packing up and moving a thousand miles away and leaving her again. I felt like such a bad sister. I can still feel that numb part of me, that went numb that day. I can see the exact point in the road where my mom's words changed me forever.

Hitting

I know probably when I was little, my sister and I fought a lot. How could you not in such a toxic household? So I am sure there were times when we hit each other. I don't remember but one instance and that was the last instance for me. My sister and I were fighting over something stupid...could have been a barrette I had in my hair that she thought was hers, but that could have been a different fight, i'm sure. I can vividly see her turn around into her bedroom and I just hit her on her back so stinkin hard. So hard that she lost her breath. I don't know that I have ever been so scared. I was immediately so sorry that I had hit her, how awful. And then also, the realization that she could tell my father and I could then be beat. What an awful moment. I am still so sorry and so sad that I hit her that day. I promised that I would never hit her again, I meant that, and I never did. I can remember fighting with her another time and I was in the hallway and I balled up on the floor and she was hitting me, and I think she even said something about me not fighting back. I don't think I said anything to her, but I remember my thought process so clearly, just thinking, it's ok, she can hit and hit if she needs to and I will just lay here, I promised I would never hit her again and I won't. I am just so so sorry I ever did.

I think it's interesting that my sister and I came out of that house both feeling like my parents liked the other one better. I guess when you are treated so poorly and you just want to be loved and accepted by your parents and you aren't, what other conclusion can a young mind form? My parents always fought over money...which I wonder why or how that is, since my mom didn't have any, not a dime. It was so stressful for me to have to watch or wait for my mom to ask my dad for a check to buy groceries or anything else. I can remember one fight of my parents, sitting upstairs and hearing my dad say, fine, I'll take care of Jennifer and you take care of Cathy. Oh it makes my stomach just roll, ugg. I mean who says that ever and who says that when your children can hear? And I won't lie, my only thought was, phew, atleast I got the one with the money. How horrible is that thought? I don't even want to post it. But I am being honest with my feelings and I was in a terrible place with terrible people. And I know from that point on, my sister felt that my parents liked me better and did more stuff for me. My dad didn't buy her anything when she went away to college and that same year he bought me a ton of stuff for when I moved into an apt. That's true. But it wasn't because he liked me better, it was because I had gone to counseling at school and when I came home that summer, my eyes were opened to...hey this place is wrong, all wrong. And all my previous defense mechanisms were gone. I was having a terrible time coping with all the madness. My dad then sat me on the couch and said what's wrong? He did this a few nights in a row consistently and my answer was always the same, nothing, can I go now? So this last night, he said you are not leaving this couch until you tell us what's wrong with you. I sat there a good long time, I would say nothing, may I go now. Nope, not until I told him what was wrong. And then all of the sudden, it all came gooshing out....I hate you, I hate this house, I hate that you have always been mean and I just remember you yelling at me and hitting me and calling me stupid. I hate that you are mean to mom. I have never heard you say nice things to her...etc...and I hate you mom that you let dad be so mean and never did anything about it. This was a moment I was not prepared for. I realized I was more mad at my mom for sitting back and allowing this all to happen than mad at my dad for physically and verbally being abusive. I would have thought that my mom would have spoken up and been sorry...or something. I watched her and I could physically see her change, I could really see the wall come up...since that day she has never been the same with me. It was and is so weird to recall to be able to see that happen without any words being exchanged. I don't know what my dad said. I ended with that I was looking forward to the time that I was able to get out of the house and never come back. My dad then though, bought me a desk for my room in the apt at college, and shelves and stuff and whatever for my room. Out of guilt. Trying to bribe my forgiveness. Not because he liked me better. I also had no idea that he didn't buy a single thing for my sister. That just makes my stomach roll too. ugg. yuk. bleck. That must have really hurt my sister's feelings.

Dusty

We got Dusty I believe when I was in the 8th grade. He was so stinkin cute. He was white with caramel spots, he was a cocker spaniel. I can remember my mom and dad bringing him home, he was so little. We played with him right on the front lawn. I even remember taking him to swim practice one day in my swim bag! Everyone laughed when a dog head popped out of my bag. I can remember not even wanting to swim because I wanted to play with him. For awhile, Dusty slept in my room with me. I can remember waking up to him trying to push my head off my pillow so he could sleep on my pillow. Crazy dog! I think Dusty got the brunt of a lot of my father's rage and anger. I mean, Dusty could just be walking past him and he would kick him so hard. Dusty did not like my dad at all. I loved that dog and he loved me. Do you know that if my father came into the room and walked near me, Dusty would jump up and get in between us and growl at my dad. I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and it was a dog! ha! It would infuriate my dad sometimes, he would pick him up by the scruff of the neck and take him in the garage and beat him. It was excruciating to hear that poor dog howling. I think my dad even had a leather thing that he beat him with sometimes. If I was laying on the couch and my dad walked in, Dusty would jump on top of me to get between me and my dad and growl at him and my dad would taunt him...thinking it's so funny...hitting me, like smacking my shoulder to get the dog even more upset, I can remember my mom and I and my sister begging him to stop. I just can't help but feel so sad for this helpless dog. I just cry and cry when I remember him howling and yelping as my dad beat him. I really thought that one day he would kill him out in that garage. It's no surprise that after I had moved to SC...I mean this is years of that dog being tortured in that household, he was outside and my mom wanted him to come inside and she probably went to smack him to tell him to get inside and he lost it, got hit one too many times and he bit my mom's arm and leg. She still has scars, a few of them were deep. And awfully so, I understand why it happened, and I don't ever think (and I feel guilty sometimes about it too) oh my poor mom, getting attacked by a dog. I just think of poor Dusty and how long he hung in there before he lost it. My sister was scared for Dusty, so she said she went and broke into their lockbox and took a credit card and took Dusty to the vet to be put to sleep. I cannot even imagine the courage it took to do that. She said she knew that if she left him there that my dad would come home and kill him with his bare hands. I know she's right. I just love her so much for being so brave and courageous and strong to be able to do that. I can only imagine how hard and painful that was. I still cry and cry when I think of him. I mean he was annoying with the humping. But he deserved a better life and for that I am so sorry for him and so sad. I think this is why I have such a soft spot for dogs. I can't stand to see them needing or wanting for anything. When my parents were visiting in June, my dad shook his head at me when I was doing something with Lucy and I said, what? He said, I have just never seen someone love a dog so much. I can't even tell you how sick I would be knowing that my dad was here alone with my dog. It's sad too to hear my mom and dad say things like lots of people have had problems with field bred cocker spaniels, there was too much inbreeding or something and I just think....are you serious? the dog was beat and kicked and treated poorly nearly every single day of his life. For that I will always be sad. I loved that dog.

Reaping what you sow

I understand the reaping what you sow concept. I believe I have even seen it in action. Especially with tithing. However, there is one thing that concerns me about reaping what you sow.

I can see that my parents are reaping what they sowed in our childhood. We are not close to them. We don't wish to be close to them. Shoot I even moved 1000 miles away to not be physically close to them. I mean someone who has deemed you stupid and worthless and basically doesn't want you to think for yourself....who would want to be with that person. We like to be with people who build us up, cherish us, encourage us, not tear us down.

At any rate, my not wanting to spend time with them, or wanting a close relationship with them, mainly the not wanting to spend time with them....am I reaping this to only sow that with, God willing, my own children some day?? Or will what I reap in my children's childhood be what I sow with them for our future relationships? I take parenthood so seriously and I think I will redeem some of my own childhood through providing a healthy childhood for my own children. It's just always in the back of my mind.

And the whole thing with cycles. I feel like I have broken this cycle, not to be repeated in my family line...however, looking back then at it from a different point of view, what kind of childhood did my father have? I have a hard time reconciling that with my beloved grandfather. And if that's true....will Ava feel like my father is her beloved grandfather? I am not sure I could handle that, I mean I could, but inside it would infuriate me. Is that unfair? Probably and probably not all at the same time. And do I just chalk it up to my father's own reaping and sowing?

I can't feel bad for them, although part of me does. They did not forge a relationship with my sister and I. And they expect it now? Why, because they are our parents? Because they certainly still show no respect for our thoughts, ideas or boundaries, which makes coming to a peace with them so difficult. But even as an adult, the desire for your parents to love and accept you doesn't go away...that is the part the infuriates me the most! ha ha!

Hope

I am filled with hope. I read through the weeks of Making Peace with your Past that I had already completed. It was amazing! It was so great to see the things that stumbled me back then and to see just how much I have already healed!! What a phenomenal experience. It was great, well, the feeling after reading this part was great...to read a list of specific statements that were used repeatedly to communicate shame to me......
" You're stupid" "That's a stupid way to feel" " Who do you think you are?" "Look at me when I talk to you, are you staring at me?" (this was awful, if you looked at him when he was screaming at you, you got in trouble for staring at him, so the next time you'd stare at the floor and you'd get in more trouble for not looking at him when he spoke to you...awesome) "You're lucky I don't beat the shit out of you right now" "If it weren't for those expensive braces I put on your teeth I would knock the shit out of you"

Reading this didn't have the emotional response it had in the past. I hadn't even remembered these things until I read it. Wow. Healing is good. God is good. I want to experience God's free grace at the deepest level of my emotional being. I have to be ok saying, this did happen and it hurts. It's ok that it hurts. I can mourn for that little girl.

I learned something new about my father too....this was a sentence in the book...."Family members are held hostage by the focal family member's preoccupation with running from feelings he does not wish to experience." It's interesting to look at it from this point of view, my dad running from feelings he does not wish to experience.

The author also says that each day I face the same issue of letting go, of giving God control. That is what recovery in Christ is about.

You learned to be skeptical about a happy day. A happy day was a great opportunity to be disappointed.

I like this too....The goal in a functional family is to learn to acknowledge the feeling, then express it in an appropriate manner.

I tried this when my parents were here to visit. I wanted to talk to my mom about her being angry with me and all she could say was, I'm not angry, over and over. Instead of acknowledging it, talking about it and understanding why something happened. I realize I have to stop expecting that from my parents. They are not in a place to heal. They are ok with their denial and their dysfunctional relationship.

My dad would always laugh when for example he was standing next to you and reached up to get something out of a cabinet and I would duck or flinch. He just thought that was the funniest thing. I guess some of my bewilderment comes from the fact that they don't seem to have a clue. Like we were in separate households. I know they know. I can remember specifically screaming at them how awful they were to us and to each other and not being able to wait to get out of that house. They know and choose to pretend it never happened. I think both my sister and I would have a different relationship with them if they were to say, I'm sorry. But they don't see that what they did was wrong. That makes me sad for them.

I have hope. I am well on my way. I have hope.

Healing

The thing about healing is that in some cases it can be instantaneous, and thank God for that. But most times it is a process. It's like the donkey in Shrek says about the layers of an onion. You peel off some layers, come to terms with them, feel like it's all you can handle, so you put the onion away for awhile. Then some time passes, you are thankful for your new found freedom and something happens that makes you delve a little deeper. I think in talking to my sister when I was home for Ava's first birthday, I could feel some of the sadness over my childhood creeping up and I was surprised that I was so sad talking about it, it really caught me off guard. I have dealt and come to terms with a lot of things about my dysfunctional parents....and yet, much to my chagrin....THERE'S ALWAYS MORE!!! grrr! I decided that my summer project...of which I just started and have a week to complete is to conquer....the closet...ugg...the extra closet and so I began yesterday. I am realizing that talking about cleaning out a scary closet has a lot of similarities in making peace with my past...hmmm....coincidence?! Anyways, I came across a study I started awhile back, it got really intense and I put it away for awhile. Coming across it I thought, maybe it's time to pick it up again. I just don't like all the sad feelings that come along with it. As I read through the weeks I had already completed, I had some new revelations. It was interesting to read about how a dysfunctional family revolves around the emotions of one person. And how my emotional well-being was formed due to the rage-aholic, alcoholic father that we tiptoed around. And how friends had to go home once my father was home from work. Or that opinions or emotions were not ok to have. And that emotional eating has its roots in helping you to "swallow" feelings that you...scratch that....feelings that I was not allowed to have. I have wondered often why I don't like to feel angry. Anger inside of me feels so out of control and scary. And something I went back and read yesterday just clicked in my brain....this is from Making Peace with Your Past....
A dysfunctional family puts limits on the expression of feelings....if she expresses her anger, Dad might get dangerously angry. To make the emotional pain go away for awhile, she may learn to swallow her feelings by eating. The expression of unacceptable feelings may be ignored as a way of communicating that these feelings are not permitted in this family. After receiving these messages thousands of times , the child adopts a powerfully destructive thought: " My feelings are not important. My feelings don't matter. I don't have a right to feel pain. I don't have a right to feel." The child learns to live through the feelings of the addictive/compulsive parent who is the primary focus of the dysfunctional family. When this person is happy, the child thinks she is happy. When this person is sad, the child feels sad.

When I re-read this I understood about being scared about being angry or mad....growing up I didn't have the right to feel angry. I didn't have the right to feel angry about being called down from my bedroom to put my father's plate in the kitchen sink for him. Or being called downstairs to bring him the salt. Not allowed to be angry about being hit. Not allowed to be angry about hearing my dog yelp and wail as he got beat by my father in the garage. Not being allowed to feel angry each time my dad told me I was stupid. Not allowed to be angry when my father was yelling at my sister.

And what about learning to eat to swallow feelings?!?! How do you reverse that?

How do you honor two parents whom you have a deep seated anger for and whom you do not even enjoy their company?

How do I heal from this completely and allow myself to be involved in a healthy, loving relationship? How does all this become something of the past that stays in the past?

I sat across from my dad a week and a half ago, listening to him tell a story and thinking, there isn't anything I like about him. I can usually put on a good face and pretend. Or I can pity him. But this past week, all of that was gone from me. I looked at him and just felt disgust, dislike and just couldn't bear to sit there.

It's interesting that my parents would still like to play that role. Of leaving the house or someone coming in and everything is just wonderful. A nice family...blah, blah.... and I believe they would still like my sister and I to play that role...and having been in the world and see that that is not how good families act or that life isn't meant to be that way...the pretending is over. And my parents are baffled...that we won't vacation with them or don't want to see them more often. My dad still pulls his punches (verbally) I just can't imagine how the relationships we have or don't have with them isn't crystal clear to them. That truly baffles me.