The Guilt Equation

People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Luke 18:15-16.

Guilt and shame of abuse are incredibly difficult to let go of. How long have you felt guilty about your abuse/assault? How many times has the voice inside you told you it was all your fault? I have felt guilty since the first minute of abuse and I have yet to completely shut that voice off in my head. 

I had a long list of reasons it was all my fault. I just knew there had to be something wrong with me, especially when it kept happening. There had to be flaw I just could not pinpoint but my abuser saw it. He saw it as permission to abuse me. 

After my first abuser moved on I was abused 3 years later by our 16-year-old neighbor. I blamed this on myself also. That felt the mysterious flaw was still evident to others and I was starting to accept abuse as a way of life. After the third abuser, when I was 10, the idea there was something wrong with me and that I deserved the abuse was etched in cement in my mind. No one person around me was telling me any different. Of course, it was all a secret so there was not anyone who could tell me different. All I heard was the voice inside it and the pressure to keep it secret. I was alone due to guilt and shame, misplaced as it was. 

I have been hiding for years, carrying the secret and shame heavy on my heart. When I broke my silence at age 16 I still felt the shame and guilt. Admitting it happened just shifted some of the burden from inside to outside. I still felt it was all my fault and now other people knew I was flawed. My mother, pastors, and therapists told me for years it was not my fault. I never believed them. I just knew that if they were aware of all the details and how many times it happened, they would blame me also. 

I have been fighting to let go this idea, chiseling it out of the cement I etched it in. 

Today, a few decades later, I can tell you it was never my fault. Logically it makes perfect sense to place the blame on the actual abusers. Emotional acceptance is the hardest obstacle. I have often heard the few feet from the brain to the heart is the longest, most difficult journey. I cannot agree with that statement enough. People are often described as having a wall around their heart or a closed heart. Outside forces cannot begin to open a heart or tear down a wall until the internal forces start to crack the shell. It has taken so very long, but my walls started cracking and logic started to weave its way through the cracks. 

In Sunday School (Life Group) a week or so ago our class was in Romans and talking about Paul and his message to the Roman Church. I wish I had taken better notes about the reference but I did write down the statement that made the brain-heart journey a little shorter. 

Sin leads to guilt; Guilt leads to hiding (shame). 

BAM! To me this was the equivalent of a dark curtain being drawn back and a brighter world full of beautiful colors revealed. It was almost a ‘“facepalm” moment. In a manner of seconds I had changed the equation a little and a huge chunk of the wall fell down. 

His (abuser’s) sin leads to his guilt; His guilt leads to his hiding (shame). 

I DO NOT APPEAR IN THAT EQUATION AND NEVER BELONGED IN IT! 

If I could sill safely turn cartwheels, I would. A lot of rejoicing when on in my head and the party made it to my heart. 

I have guilt and shame to deal with resulting of my choices, but the abuse was never my choice at any age, and the guilt and shame are not mine and have never been. I have tried finding the words to explain this new feeling. I have kind of a funny picture in my mind. Imagine having a 50-pound of junk chained to your body and you have been dragging it for years, letting it hinder your life and growth. All of a sudden God breaks the chains and you fall face down in the dirt from the sudden release. You get up, dust yourself off, and float into the arms of God. There is just so much joy. A joy that cannot be contained. I may not be able to shout this new freedom from the rooftops, but I my steps are lighter and there is a smile that starts deep in my heart. It is a feeling I pray we will all have. 

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

Flashback

How do you handle a flashback? My reaction will vary, as I suppose everyone's does. The type of flashback also makes a difference.

At this point in the journey I have pretty much recovered every detail I am going to get. I can see what happened and have written all I know about the abuse. Most of it returned at once and it was horrifying. Lately I have discovered the emotional flashbacks are probably harder to get through. 

A couple of days ago I had an emotional flashback. Honestly, I think this kind of flashback is worse. I was watching a movie with my husband and there was a scene where the main character was hiding under her sheets, not wanting to see the thing terrifying her. The movie was suspenseful and normally I would enjoy it. This particular scene terrified me and I was done with the movie at that point. It was a scene that was all too familiar. 

When I was a senior in high school I wrote an essay about hiding from my abuser in a similar fashion. I really wish I could find that essay now. I do remember the gist of it. 

I was 4 and had a problem wetting my bed. My father put me to bed and said he was going to get my some Lifesavers as a reward for not wetting the bed. I knew that meant he was going to leave the apartment. I guess my mother was not there because I knew "that man" was in the house with me alone. I pulled my covers over my head and used my little arms to hold them down. I cannot tell you how long I stayed like that, listening for him, and hoping he did not come in. I started to feel a tug at the covers and immediately started to panic. I held them down just as hard as I could while kicking at the body that had sat down at the end of my bed. I imagine the struggle did not last long but I remember fighting so hard to keep the covers over me. Eventually the covers were pulled off; however, instead of it being my abuser, it was my father. He had returned with the Lifesavers. I remember the look on my dad's face. He had a puzzled look on his face. I felt an enormous sense of relief. He placed the Lifesavers on my bookshelf and turned off the light on his way out of the room. I still wet my bed that night but climbed up the bookshelf and got the Lifesavers, as any 4-year-old would. 

Watching the woman in the movie place the covers over her head to avoid something terrifying tossed me back into the above moment. I have known the details for years and years. I had written it at least twice, once in high school and another in college. This time I felt the memory. My stomach started to churn, my chest felt tight, and I had my husband stop the movie. I grabbed my favorite stuffed animal and tried to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night I started screaming and woke up my husband. I could not tell him what caused the scream. 

If the screaming in the middle of the night was a new thing, I could have easily blamed it on the movie. Unfortunately I have been doing this at least twice a week since I was discharged from the hospital. I originally thought it had something to do with the medication withdrawal but it has continued. 

I have to face the fact that a majority of the cause is probably emotional flashbacks. How many times did I want to scream and just could not? Even when awake, I am feeling the sense of helplessness, being overwhelmed, and terrified out of my mind. I am experiencing it on 3 levels. I am remembering the emotions as a little girl, as the high-school senior who wrote the original essay, and as the adult now having to go back through it again. 

I was waiting to post this. I wanted a way to sum it up and write about how I got through it. The truth is, while it is not completely occupying my mind and has faded into the background a little, I have not moved all the way past it. This only proves recovery will never be wrapped up tightly with a bow. It is a process. Our job is to continue the process.