Facing the Enemy

I am headed into a battle; a battle to win the war of gaining my intended life. I am working to find my purpose. I was simply not created to mop up the need of my abusers. God has a much better plan for my life, for all of our lives.

For the last 3 to 4 months I have felt a nagging in my heart to no longer work around my core feelings by focusing on symptoms. Not that I am finished with symptoms, but I really believe if I do not get to the center, the symptoms will stick. I could stop right here and still be able to live an okay life, working around the damage of the abuse and maybe moving further past it. However, I do not want an okay life. I want the life I am meant to live, the one God created me for. I need to feel whole and fully experience life.   

Compartmentalization of the abuse is a defense mechanism. There are compartments holding memories, emotions, and self-protection. While I have cried and experienced feelings about the abuse I had to stifle, there was always a part I did not touch, avoiding the core driving my life and decision making.

About a month ago, after great personal physical harm was experienced, my counselor and I decided it was really time to excavate, to dig into the core. He asked where I wanted to start and, much to his surprise, I chose to start with the most destructive emotions. There were a few reasons for this. First, I had pretty good control over the anger, sadness, and over protection. Second, I was starting to spiral down from the destructive thinking and there was a very real threat to my physical body as well as emotional stability. Lastly, if I could survive getting to the core of harmful emotions, it would put the others in a different perspective and possibly be less painful to work through.  

The lies we believe are hurtful and deceitful. Any cutting, toenail removal, or other painful physical action I took was driven by the lies. For the longest time I was able to keep them under control and not really expose myself to origin. I hid from them out of fear of experiencing the incredible pain.

I created this monster of lies within. My abuser (nickname Junior) told me the sexual abuse was my fault. If I was not cute, sweet, or pretty, he would not do those things to me. Junior was excellent at convincing me he just could not help himself because I was so desirable that I was the instigating factor. I made him a bad person because I was purposely tempting him and therefore responsible for all of it. I was 3-½. Even now I can hear Junior feeding me these lines. I shoved all those “responsibility” feelings and lies into a compartment. Without being conscious of it, I was punishing myself for causing the abuse, for creating a monster forced to sexually assault me based on my actions.

My therapist’s intern, who has participated in my sessions, made a casual remark that struck a nerve. She wondered if I also acted out of un-forgiveness? Was the inability to forgive myself lowering my resistance, inspiring the physical harm because I felt I really did deserve it? It was ultimately decided to explore this in the next 2-hour session he had available. There was concern a 55-minute session would not be enough time to “regroup” afterwards and the goal was to avoid cutting or worse. With the longer session there was time to recover if it got really bad. For the record, there was not any pressure to actually do this in the 2-hour session. It was completely up to me how it went. If I deferred, it was not a big deal and the time would be used for other issues.

In the few weeks leading up to the longer session I started to write down the possible negative emotions behind the self-destruction. Once I had the list, I put it aside and waited. I was nervous about getting too involved without proper protection in place.

The self-hatred was composed of my abuser’s lies about my being to blame and all the other negative emotions I have about myself whether abuse related. The list of hurtful emotions consists of un-forgiveness, self-hatred, vulnerability, intimacy, brokenness, and unworthiness.

My therapist gently took me through the basics of the emotions. He showed me how they are all lies. It was not my fault, so there is nothing to forgive. I did not create the situation or encourage it, therefore I should not hate myself. Vulnerability and intimacy are good things that were twisted and made to feel bad. It is going to take time and I have been taking steps to become vulnerable in safer situations and I am making connections with people I never had before. The abuse is not the only thing making me feel broken and flawed. There is nothing in my DNA making me less of a person, making it okay to abuse and/or hurt me. Something in the abuser broke and he sexually abused me, not the other way around. I am not less valuable because of the abuse. The feelings of unworthiness not only stem from the abuse, they also reach into my relationship with my father. After my parents divorced I did not see or hear from him for a long time. He essentially disappeared into his military career and new wife. My therapist helped me see his actions came from his own hurt and had nothing to do with me. Every child believes divorce or absent parents have something to do with them. If I was somehow a better daughter, he would not have left me behind. By the time the divorce took place I had been abused, adding to my feeling I was not good enough for my dad to stick around.

The session was the most emotional I have endured to date. It was raw, honest, and excruciating. I have cried in therapy several times but this time the pain and tears came from my core. I felt everything. I was sifting through devastating emotions and could not hide. Once I started the option of cutting the process off was out of my control. I was fully present, could not dissociate from it, and crushed by the power of the pain. After 1-½ hours my therapist and the intern stopped me and we talked about how to take care of myself when I left. Everyone in the room was drained by the end. I was safe and put back together at the end of the 2 hours, exhausted but no longer defeated.

 Did recognition of all this fix everything? No, but some of the power is gone. The feelings were dragged into the light. Now I can see them and can sort through and reorganize, reshape, and put it them perspective. This will take time and a lot of work, more work than I really think I want to do. I am taking 30-plus years of damage and repairing it. Just as one does not gain or lose weight overnight, I did not wake up the next day all better. A lot of effort on my part needs to take place and I will need help to keep it all in proper perspective. I can do this and have been doing it a little at a time all along. I will slip along the way and have dig my way out, but I honestly think the cutting and other physical harm is over with.

Sequence

Photo Credit: LHC

My household consists of 3 adults, 4 children, a dog, and several rabbits. Because of this, visitors to my home find it hard to believe I enjoy a sense of order in my life but I do.  I refuse to read a book series unless I start at the beginning. Ironically I find it frustrating when the author will attempt to catch the reader up with each book in the series. I feel it is a waste of time and if the reader wanted to know what happened previously, they would start with the first book. Do not get me started on soundtracks for movies. Songs should appear on the soundtrack in the same order they do in the movie. I have several soundtracks I have reordered on my playlists to fit the movie. There are only a few other spaces in my life where I hold on to a sense of balance and consistency. Any other annoyances about order were blown to bits when I had kids.

I was looking through previous posts and noticed they seemed random and out of order. It bothered me for about 5 minutes, and then I realized recovery is not an orderly process. There is not a check-off sheet or a list of guidelines. Most people I know are very disappointed in this. They want the checkoff sheet, something to tell them what phases they will go through, in what order, and a time frame. As unfair as it is, recovery does not work that way.

If you have seen preschool artwork or remember your own, there is always at least one piece of artwork with several squiggly lines in multiple colors. I came across a drawing my son did in preschool last week. It is difficult to spot the beginning and end. This is recovery.

I have met several people with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), some were abused and others were not. As a survivor, this makes sense to me. When the abuse was happening everything was out of order and felt chaotic. It is easy to see how an overdeveloped need for order in regular life can happen. Control is essential.

Recovery will move you forward, backward, and side to side. It is never in a straight line. There will be side roads, ditches, holes in the road, hills, and valleys. Your perspective on what you are going through will change and very often will bounce back and forth. There are times I go backward and fall into the same ditches over and over. Eventually I will not fall into the ditch or valley when I get pushed back or if I do, I will remember the steps to get out.

Every new memory or a details in a previous memory has the potential to push me a little backward and off to the side. If I take the time to recognize what is happening, I can just take a couple of steps back and move forward again. Sometimes I am blown back by a hurricane force wind, have to figure out where I landed, and crawl forward. Telling you how long it took my therapist and friends to convince me this is normal will prove how single-minded we can become and how immersed we get in the moment rather than the big picture. It is a constant struggle and I have been all over the place since I was a teenager.

My posts are not in an orderly progression. I have not gone from rock bottom to where I am today in a logical, systematic fashion. The posts represent my very real recovery path; up, down, around curves, and upside down, similar to a roller coaster. There are times it is unpredictable with a side of chaos.

I do not tell you this to discourage those traveling with me. I want to convey that you are not alone in the journey and your journey is personal and normal. I encourage you to take it in stride, realize it is tough but not impossible. The positive changes will start to show themselves and there is always hope. Encouragement, hope, and faith have gotten me this far and will continue to push me to where God wants me to be.

Then you would trust, because there is hope; And you would look around and rest securely. Job 11:18

Longest Flashback Ever

Say to those with anxious heart, “Take courage, fear not. Behold, your God will come with vengeance; The recompense of God will come, But He will save you.” Isaiah 35:4

Not all flashbacks are over in the same day. I discovered this the hard way and experienced a 3-day flashback.

A few weeks ago I cracked two teeth, one on the top and the one right under it. My dentist referred me to an endodontist, who diagnosed the cracks. Much to my surprise he said I needed a root canal and planned to do it right then. I contemplated scheduling it for later but it would be a week or so, my teeth ached badly, and I did not want to have to think about it too long.

If you have had a root canal, you are probably familiar with the device the used to isolate the tooth and keep the mouth open. After the 2nd dose of anesthesia (my body resists local anesthesia) I put in my headphones, cranked up the music, and started to pray. The doctor told me to raise my hand if I was uncomfortable. Funny guy. The whole process is uncomfortable. I only raised my hand once and received another shot of anesthesia.

Before the start of the root canal a contraption with a clamp was put on my offending tooth. It was attached to this blue foam thing and put in my mouth, holding it open. Foam rimmed glasses were then put over my eyes and I was told to relax. Again, funny guy.

It was at that moment I started to panic. I really could not close my mouth and my jaw started to ache. Flashback. The pain in my jaw and not being able to close my mouth threw me back to the age of 4, one of the times I was forced into oral sex. I was the little girl kneeling on shag carpet in front of a naked man on a metal fold-out chair. I felt the tears in my eyes from gagging and fear. I remembered wanting my abuser to hurry so I could get away. I heard his friend laughing.

As I sat in the dental chair, remembering the above, I focused on breathing through my nose. I put my hands behind my back to keep from lashing out in the midst of the flashback. I tried folding myself in over and over inside, trying to disappear. I never managed to completely dissociate due to noise. When the root canal was finished and all instruments removed my body was shaking and I could barely speak. The staff was asking if I was okay and I was fighting to say yes. I left the office quietly.

Prior to this, my last “body” memory was over a year ago. I felt the above memory the rest of the day. The constant ache kept bringing me back into the flashback and I could not escape. Relaxation of any kind was impossible. I stumbled through the rest of my day, going through the motions of dinner and church. I did cry a little at the end of Bible study and when I went to bed that night, I cried myself to sleep. I lost focus and fell into flashback head first.

Unfortunately when I woke up in the morning my jaw still ached and my mind immediately went to the flashback. It was only 6:30 am and I felt defeated. I slept a good part of the morning and finally poured myself out of bed around 10 am. I decided to work on a project that required a concentrated effort on organization and cleaning. For the most part this worked. When the anti-inflammatories wore off, the pain would return, as would the flashback. By 8 pm my brain was fried and my body exhausted.

At day 3 of the flashback I accomplished essentially nothing except a draft of this post. I started writing in the hopes it would help and it did to an extent; the jaw pain was still there. The pain was a constant reminder of the flashback. I could not shake it. I suspect my lack of energy and function had something to do with the depression but I sat still and did not run from the memory. I let it have its day.

My reactions to the flashback were varied and pretty normal I believe. I went from managing it in the endodontist office, being in shock, distracting myself as much as possible, getting stuck in the depression, and pulling back into reality.

There is an underlying difference with this flashback. Just below the surface I had a realistic expectation. I knew it would be better in the next few days. I was eventually able to put the flashback in the proper place. I will not forget but the emotional overload dispersed. I have described emotional tidal waves in previous posts and this was another example.

In a couple of weeks I will return to the endodontist. I now know what to expect and am confident my experience will be different. I have no doubt I will be reminded of the flashback and the pain will return, but when it does I will be ready. I do not anticipate any surprises, as I have had the flashback and the dental procedure will be somewhat familiar. Most importantly, I know the memories overall will not permanently bring me down. My reactions are temporary and the bigger picture God has for me is brighter.

For right now, I am going to pray and ask others to pray for me. One of the best parts of having friends and a support system grounded in faith is the prayer. When I cannot get the words out of my mouth, they can do it for me. Nothing in my past can defeat prayer.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Philippians 4:6

Opportunities

The emergency room of a trauma center has the potential to teach a lot of life lessons. Several years ago I was a patient care representative in a level 1 trauma center, working the midnight shift. A patient care representative was there to help make sure patients were fairly calm, orchestrate transportation from the ER to home if needed, support family members of trauma patients, and provide emotional/practical support for family members of deceased patients. It was a tough job and I was ill prepared for it. I eventually became better at it and held the job for almost 3 years. I chose to move into a 9-to-5 job when I realized compassion gave way to obligation. A few co-workers had been labeled “I don’t care reps” and I was approaching that point, according to a couple of attending physicians.

It has been over 15 years since I left that job. There are patients and situations I do not believe I will ever forget. Outside of my abuse, the job gave me a clear view of tragedy. I saw people at their worst and others at their best. I could easily spend hours telling emergency room stories, but there is one story that affected me the most.

During my last year on the job and young suicidal man came into the ER. Several people had come through for suicidal thoughts but this was different. The physician asked me to find the man’s family or anyone I could let know he was there. I went into the exam room and introduced myself. He could not have been more than 24. He spoke quietly and told me there was no one to contact. I left the room telling him to let me know if he changed his mind.

Within 30 minutes the ER physician pulled me aside. I was now needed to find the patient’s family more urgently. The man was suicidal because he was sexually abused as a child and recently discovered his younger brother had been abused by the same man. He was suicidal because he felt responsible. Time seemed to move in slow motion. My mind went blank and I desperately tried to figure out what I was going to say.

During that time I was back in therapy, this time with a new therapist. There was a 4-year break between therapists and I was still skimming the surface with this one. Skimming the surface maybe the wrong description. It was more like establishing a trust and trying to figure out which direction I was headed. I was wrestling with my own guilt, shame, and memories and emotions went into panic mode almost immediately as I headed to the exam room.

The patient was crying; his baseball cap was over his face. Tears immediately filled my eyes. Over time I had learned to stay objective and not cry, but there was no objectivity here. I felt his pain so deeply and could not hide it. Not only that, I did not want to hide it. He needed to know he was not alone.

I sat still and waited for him to speak. He managed to give me the name of a friend to call. My chest hurt as I explained we had to get the police involved; there had to be report. I stayed in the corner of the room as the police asked him questions. His affect was flat and voice monotone. When the officers left his room, I left also simply because the resident psychiatrist came in.

I paced around the ER trying to decide what to do. I really wanted this man to know it was not his fault; he is not responsible for the actions of the abuser. I understood the shame he felt already but to feel guilt for what happened to his younger brother had to be incredible. My thoughts were scattered as I weighed my options. Would I just walk away and put him out of my mind, was it an option, or would I find a way to help? I ultimately ended up hiding in a quiet office just outside the ER and writing a letter. I told him how it was never his fault, he was brave for asking for help, and that he needed to live for himself and his younger brother. The letter was about 2 pages handwritten and I am not sure of everything I said. When I was done, I folded it up, walked back into his room, and placed it in his hand. I told him I hoped it helped and walked out. He was eventually admitted to the behavioral health floor and I never heard another word about him, which was not unusual. I often did not know what happened to patients once they left the ER.

You may wonder what my point might be. It is this; we never know when the opportunity to share with someone will present itself. Have you been comforted by someone saying they understand and know what it is like to be abused? Even if you never see or hear from the person again, they will know they are not alone. It is tragic so many men and women are victims of someone else’s twisted mindset, but the statistics are there. Despite knowing 1 and 3 women have been abused, it still feels lonely. We are the only ones who can speak up for each other. All the individual therapy in the world will not take away the sense of isolation. We need each other. Group therapy, forums, and support groups are necessary.

Like I mentioned, I never saw or heard about that man in the ER again. My letter was not meant to save his life or pat my ego. It was simply to let him know he was not alone. It may have not had any impact on his life or it may have planted a seed, however tiny, that there is hope. There is hope.

Better Left in the Dark?

I am a “jumpy” person. If a person enters a room quietly, without my being aware, and then speaks, I will startle and most certainly scream. Generally if anything jumps out at me, I will scream and either run or attack. As such, haunted houses are not my cup of tea. I have never understood the appeal of purposely being scared. I imagine it is because I have already been scared and attacked in my own haunted houses. My memory also feels like a haunted space.

My brain has released moments and details of abuse over a long period of time. I went from knowing “something” happened to having detailed recollections. Once I realized the abuse happened on more than one occasion I declared I did not want any other information and certainly was not interested in the details. I was sure the details would completely destroy my life and I would end up as a permanent resident in a psych facility. Overdramatic? Maybe, but it certainly feels that way. I have never met an abuse survivor giddy at the prospect of remembering all the details of the abuse.

My abuse memories came to the surface a little at a time for many years. I resisted them and tried to deny their existence. I have mentioned before that I was flooded with so many details of several abusive situations over a 3 to 4 month period. To say it was awful is an understatement. I was crushed under the wave and was not sure I had or wanted the strength to move forward. I was self-destructive and suicidal at the lowest point. The seemingly contradictory part of all this is remembering the details has probably saved me.

Before the details came I was in a constant state of searching. As much as I did not want the memories, I knew they were there, lurking. I was fearful of them and wondering when they would hit. It felt the same as standing at the front door of a haunted house, waiting for the push to walk in and face what I feared the most.

Here are some things that happened when my memories showed themselves.

I no longer lived in fear of the unknown.  Within a 6 month time frame I had so much information and detail. I was emotionally drained but the pictures were clearer and I did not have to try and guess what happened. Sights, sounds, and feelings were there, no longer hiding out in the spiderweb sections of memory. I no longer had to fear the details and speculate about how I would deal with them. I survived it. The unknown is no longer haunting me.

I learned to ask for help. I shared all the written stories with my therapist and parts of them with my group. I needed to admit I was not strong enough to handle the mess on my own. I took a risk by sharing my story and accepting encouragement. I learned there were trustworthy people who understood exactly what I was feeling. I no longer felt alone and separated from the rest of the human race. I was gently asked to seek God’s perspective and ask him for wisdom.

My sense of impending doom went away. The anticipation of certain disaster essentially disappeared. The burdens of worry and panic over memories retrieved and new memories subsided. At this point whatever I remember now cannot possibly be any worse than what I have already remembered. While in therapy one week I had a new memory surface and it was actually with a different abuser. It happened one time when I was 4 and involved one of my friends and her father. The memory hurt and I was visibly upset, but I was able to calm myself and put it in perspective. For the first time in a very long time I was able to separate my childhood and adult self. This did not stir up a sense of ruin. I am not downplaying the memory. My reaction just reflects the work I have done in the last couple of years and the way God has changed my life.

There are some survivors who will never get some or all of the details. They will know it happened and will still work hard to recover. How do you lessen the sense of impending doom? How do you let go of what you do not remember and recover from what you do know? Details of the abuse do not affect the recovery. The impact on my life is the same regardless of detail recall. I continue to struggle with self-esteem, forgiving myself, sex, trust, intimacy, self-abuse, and control. I cannot answer the question of why some end up with details and I am not sure whether the release is directed by God. It occurs to me that the devil might have something to do with it. My flood of details could have been orchestrated by him. I could have easily succumbed to the depression, turned suicidal thoughts into action, and turned my back on God. Through God’s power to heal, I did none of those things.

If we concentrate on the impact on our life and heal, the details are not as important. All of the above that came about as a result of my remembering needed to happen either way. I still needed to learn to ask for help, let go of an impending sense of doom and live in the moment, and especially learn to let go of the unknown. I am a very stubborn person and my lessons come the hard way. I heard a pastor say, “God gives us the test and then we learn the lesson.” His statement hit my heart because I know how true this is in my life. I believe God gave me the details because I was so resistant and refused to see what he was trying to teach me about recovery.

A Life Worth Saving

When you start to think you are tired of dealing with the abuse or that you just do not have the energy to keep going it is scary. It is frightening to my soul and causes great concern for my counselors and support system.

This just hurts. I am weary and wish giving up was an option. Not necessarily suicide but I just want to forget the abuse again and live in blissful ignorance. In thinking about this, forgetting the abuse would take me back to age 11-13. Not a big time frame to live in and it certainly was not blissful. Even if I never remembered the abuse, the effects would have been lifelong and I would have had a hard time relating to others. I guess blissful ignorance is not possible either.

It appears continuing to recover or suicide are the options. I need to explore them a little further.

Suicide is not a reasonable option. I used to deeply believe it was and had plans for such. I still know the plans but several precautions are in place to control the possibilities. Truth be told, if I was really determined, none of the safety plans in place would stop me. I am not there however. It still crosses my mind but I will not be acting on it. Even though I am 98% confident I am safe, the 2% has me thinking of going into a hospital until the feeling passes.

What are the things stopping me from ending my life? There are several but some are stronger than others. Saying I need to stay alive for my husband and children seems easy. While taking my life would hurt them deeply along with other people who care about me, I really need about other reasons to keep fighting. I need to fight for me. If I give up, the abusers win. They have taken so much of my life already, why give them the rest? I need to take my life back, not give it up. This is what the 98% believes.

So what do I do? I start thinking about what is really driving the thoughts and push my outside resources to the surface. I will start with the outside resources in no particular order.

Hospital

The emergency room is a safe option. While I dread the stigma that comes from checking into an ER stating I am in danger of hurting myself, it makes more sense. If I cannot keep myself safe from harm, I need to be watched. It feels childish to have another adult keep you in their line of sight for hours or days at a time; however, it works. A few years ago I was in the hospital for being suicidal. I was released 5 or 6 days later. A lot of things took place in those days but one of them was a determination not to go back in the hospital. It turned my house upside down for awhile but therapy became more intense and more progress was made.

The last week I have considered going to the ER. I managed to talk myself out of it only because I considered more than just myself. I had a lot of responsibilities that week with my husband, kids, and appointments. Do not misunderstand, my family would rather I be safe and alive and I would have checked in if I had not come to the conclusions listed below.

PROFESSIONAL HELP

Plans are established by seeking advice; so if you wage war, obtain guidance. Proverbs 20:18

I have a professional counselor, who is exhausted by the way. He is not there to tell me everything is rosy and just hang on. He pushes me to reach in and deal with the pain. My doctor knows what I need to recover. Granted, he will encourage me to go to a hospital if I truly concern him, in fact, he instigated the hospitalization earlier this year. I was incredibly ticked off at him but it saved my life. Finding a therapist you trust may take time and it may not be the first few you see. Over the years I have seen five. These days I am wondering if I did not get anything out of sessions with the previous four because I did not put enough into it. Honesty is the only way to really make progress and establish trust.

My counselor can usually tell when I am hitting bottom and push the button needed to get to the

bottom of it. It can happen in one session or over a few, but he has forced me to see reality and gain a logical perspective several times (which has to be exhausting).

If you do not have a personal counselor, I urge you to seek a minister. Make an appointment and give them the opportunity to listen, help, and guide.

Telling Family/Friends

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. James 5:16

This is harder than it may sound. Who wants to worry family and friends? No one. Which family and/or friends want to know I am trouble? All of them. I had to make a promise to my spouse after my last hospitalization. I have agreed to let him know when my depression is worsening and/or when I am seriously considering hurting myself. I do tell him when the depression is getting worse but unfortunately I have failed to let him know when I am considering hurting myself and usually let him know after the fact. I am pretty sure I do not tell him beforehand to avoid constant questioning and the potential of being watched. I still want space to work things out. I hit a wall last week and did something that caused excruciating pain. Guilt and shame afterwards were heavy and I have resolved not to let it happen again.

A support system of friends that are going through similar things and some that are not is important. People who are going through the same understand where I am struggling. They can either sit with me and cry or show me how they have come through the same crisis. My friends who have not been abused are invaluable in a different way. These women pray for me when I ask and do not press for details. There is no judgement from either group. It is precious. I imagine ending my life will hurt them deeply and I do not want to leave them thinking they failed. Suicide is actually a selfish action no matter how you try to justify it. Not giving people a chance to help tells them you do not trust them to love you through heartache.

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” Matthew 18:20

GAINING PERSPECTIVE

Out in the open wisdom calls aloud, she raises her voice in the public square; Proverbs 1:20

Stubbornness is an inherited trait for me. If I am determined not to do any of the above, I need to work into a proper perspective. A wise man I respect once told me this time in my life is just a drop in the bucket in a lifetime. This is not a permanent state and is not always bad. If I get caught up in all the pain and struggle, I will forget all the good. Does this seem to trivialize the pain? It will make my eyes roll from time to time but it is correct. Everything in my life has not been traumatic and there were good times, even if it was just a few minutes a day. Hold onto those moments. There will be more. We never know how much time we have, which leads me to my next point.

GOD’S PLAN

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

God has a plan for my life and yours. I can guarantee he does not have a plan for us to end our lives before his set time. Giving up is disobedience. I was never promised life would be easy. God promises to never leave us and to lift us up. Suicide is disregarding all of his plans and promises.

Humans are incredibly imperfect and we cannot achieve perfection until we die and meet him in heaven. Meeting him ahead of schedule is not the design. You may think ending your life will just get you to heaven early (if you have accepted Jesus as your savior) and end suffering. God desires for us to live out his purpose for us. We affect more people than we realize. God realizes it and puts us in people’s lives and people in our life for specific reasons. I have come to the conclusion my job is not to alter God’s plan by taking my life but it is to listen to him and seek his purpose for me. He designed me to be an individual and I am honored that he thinks I am valuable tool for his work.

A person’s days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed. Job 14:5

Scent of a Memory

Endless ruin has overtaken my enemies, you have uprooted their cities; even the memory of them has perished. Psalm 9:6

It is possible I am being haunted by scents of the past. I am going to attempt to explain without coming off as kooky.

There are so many triggers associated with each memory. Abuse is 5-dimensional. There is sound, sight, touch, smell, and sometimes taste; none of which are pleasant. Our brains do not “forget” any of these. We may not be able to reach them consciously but the memories are there, part of the repression.

For years I had problems with the smell of marijuana and could not figure out why. I had no recollection smelling it prior to my first exposure in middle school. I was visiting the mother of one of my friends in another city. That evening the mother’s friends came over and smoked it during the night. I was instantly uneasy. I remember the knots in my stomach and an overwhelming desire to head home, which was not an option. The smoke was thick and I ended up with a second-hand smoke high. The entire weekend was uncomfortable for me for several reasons. I was out of my element and comfort zone for one but there was a nagging feeling in my gut that it all too familiar. 

My next encounter with marijuana involved coworkers in a restaurant. I would hang out with them until the joint was brought out and then just excuse myself politely. My coworkers knew I was not going to participate and respected my decision to leave. I could not stand to be around it. I made concentrated efforts to stay away from it but eventually the picture memory followed the smoke exposure; unfortunately it was at a Pink Floyd concert I had been dragged to kicking and screaming by my first husband.

There are other smells that bring me back to the abuse. I hate them. The “smell” memories are more random and always lead to something worse, for me anyway. My thought process usually involves, “What about this smell is bothering me? What is it related to?” Questions for which I really do not want answers but inevitably the unpleasant answer arrives.

Back to haunting scents. With marijuana and the others I have been in a place where the smell made sense, especially the concert. Lately the scent I am getting is out of place. I will get a whiff in the car, outside on a walk, in the house, and even at the mall. At first I thought it was just me. I would take two showers a day, washed all my clothes in a different detergent, cleaned out my car, and would wear perfume. None of this helped, as it still happens. As soon as I placed the smell I felt dizzy. It is the smell of my abuser right after he was done. Even when the abuse happened in the shower he smelled the same. It is hard to describe, but it is along the lines of a person who sweats beer mixed with body odor and something sweet. Just writing about this is causing me to feel ill and anxious.

At this time the memory of this scent has not thrown me into a full flashback, just a memory. I certainly hope it stays that way. If not, I am praying I will be able to reach for the tools established for this. I want to be able to step out of it, take a deep breath, and concentrate on the present, reminding myself it happened in the past and I am safe now. It is really difficult to put the plan into action. Practice is required and not every coping skill will work for everyone. You have to find what works for you, often with trial and error. Having a private counselor help you with these skills is helpful. They have several strategies and can encourage ones that may work based on their knowledge of who you are. Talking myself down from a flashback or an overwhelming emotion has saved my life a couple of times. I am not always successful and become disappointed but I am still here. The flashbacks and memories are not the end. I have to remember I made it through others and will make it through more in the future. It boils down to reality mixed with hope.

For He delivered us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son Colossians 1:13

Understanding God the Father

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, Is God in his holy dwelling. Psalm 68:5

 I am one of those people who has to experience something first hand or have a visual demonstration to fully grasp a concept. This served me well in math class but not particularly helpful in matters of faith.

As with a lot of people, abused or not, my faith in God has been a struggle. I have heard God described in many ways, predominantly as a father. Now I have not had the greatest father examples while growing up. There were issues with abandonment, overall safety, lack of sincerity, and I questioned motives. There are by far worse fathers out there but if our earthly father cannot be trusted or seen as a positive person in any way, how can we grasp a heavenly father? If your father abused you, this idea is not comforting. I have battled with this concept for years.

When I would hear a pastor or church leader speak about embracing God as our father I was not impressed. My mistake was comparing God to man. I was attempting to use my earthly fathers as examples and imagining a faith in them that was not attainable. There is no comparison between man and God however.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort. 2 Corinthians 1:3

Can you imagine a father providing all of your comfort, showing complete compassion and understanding? Even without physical arms, there are days I can feel his arms around me. I feel the comfort I missed. While the abuse was a secret and it was years later before I said anything, the comfort and compassion I craved was not there. I searched for it subconsciously with older men, but, as you can imagine, it was not successful. I ended up with more pain and confusion.

Within the last year I have come to God as his child and accepted him as the perfect father. This was not an easy task and I know there were people in my life praying for me to see God as he truly is. God created me and has always been with me whether I was aware. He did not change in order for me to see him as my perfect father; I did. I had to open my heart and let this wash over me. I accepted his power to heal my heart and mind, no longer searching for the perfect father figure on earth, who does not exist.

With the deeper understanding of God in my life came the compassion for others. Accepting a perfect, heavenly father lead to understanding we are all flawed. I am working on a better relationship with my biological father but he is not perfect and no matter how hard we try it will never equal a father-child relationship with God. This realization is incredibly freeing. The pressure is off my shoulders to form this perfect relationship on earth. I have accepted the reality and am better off.

My heart hurts for anyone abused by their father or mother. The parental relationship is forever broken. The search for the relationship that should have existed on earth will never end. There will always be grief. If this you, I pray you come to see God as your father, one that will never hurt you and provide the comfort you seek and need.

May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant.
Psalm 119:46