Monthly Archives: September 2012

Trust – why I don’t always believe anymore

Over the past few days, more circumstances have come up that have revealed how deeply I have had my trust broken in several people.

At the same time, I am realizing just how strong my hope and trust is in God. He has brought me through so much, and has been so faithful to provide for us. My husband and I have been so incredibly blessed through His provision for us through our marriage. And the cool thing is, we had so many people question whether or not we would even make it financially…pretty much, even make it through the first few months. But we did, and we have. I will only attribute our success to God’s kindness, love, and grace for us.

When I found out, about 7 years ago, that my dad was a porn addict, my heart was crushed into so many pieces, I still do not think I’ve found all of them.  The same day my mom told me about my dad, I found my siblings viewing porn. My trust was completely broken in my dad, and yet, for some reason, I still found reason, a few years later, however shaky it was, to still trust him.

I had always wondered why, when I reached the age of 8, or so, my dad simply was absent emotionally from me. I remember starting to deal with a lot of aches and pains that medicine wasn’t touching, and asking him to help, as he used to be a military nurse. He would joke, and laugh, but I never felt that he took me seriously. My body was wracked with pain, and yet, my dad didn’t seem to believe me, or care.  This is a story for another time, but I was finally, after about 5 years, diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. It was a long journey to that diagnoses, and in the process, I had lost a lot of strength, energy, and I had to stop playing my beloved piano.

I have even had 3 MRIs so doctors could determine if something was wrong with my spine, or shoulders. The very first one I had, was at 4:45am, and my mom was out of town. I remember begging her to come back so she could take me, because I didn’t want to be with my dad. I didn’t want to be with someone who brushed off my pain and fear. I remember begging her with tears and sobs to please come home so she could take me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, so I got up at 3 am, after not having slept that night, ate a very small breakfast, and nervously walked out the door with my dad. I was scared, having never had an MRI before, but I knew I wouldn’t get any sympathy from my dad, so I tried to remain as stoic as I could be. I just about lost it though when we pulled up to the hospital, and he didn’t park, but instead went to drop me off. I shakily asked if he was going to come in with me, but no, he said, he was going to go swimming while I was in the MRI. I was shocked and my heart rate probably jumped really high when I found out I was having to do this by myself, without the support of either of my parents. I was, after all, a big girl at the ripe age of 15 or 16, and I could take care of myself. [yeah right]

The MRI lasted for two long hours. I lay in that machine trying not to lose it, trying not to remember that I had no idea where to even find my dad afterwards. The hospital was huge, but I had no idea where the pool was, or even where he would be. I finished up, got dressed, and walked out to go where he told me to meet him, and my heart sank. He wasn’t there. I didn’t have a phone, and I had no idea where he could be. I finally was able to reach him from one of the desk phones I had to beg off of the clerk.

I had trusted my dad to be there for me, but he wasn’t. And i knew that i couldn’t explain why that hurt, or why that didn’t help my already shaky trust in him, because he couldn’t, and I still believe he can’t, see how his actions have hurt me. And believe, I’ve tried explaining. I’ve sat down with him, and for three hours, out at a restaurant, tried to explain how I don’t trust him, and why what he’s done has hurt me. I’ve gotten confused answers, and that infamous deer-in-the-headlights stare.

A friend and I were talking the other day, and she mentioned how her dad wasn’t really there throughout her life, but her mom was very emotionally there, so she didn’t really need her dad. I correct her, and told her, no, she did need her dad, she just hasn’t realized that yet. She then asked me how I could see that, because yes, I was right. I realized it’s because all of my life, I have needed my dad, and at the times when I’ve needed him the most, he hasn’t been there. I trusted him to be there, and to love me unconditionally, and he hasn’t done that, but has told me many times how disappointed he is in me.

I have noticed how my distrust in my dad has spread to a distrust in men in general, especially dads. Not only that, I have found myself viewing God as the hypocritical and conditional father that my dad is. It has been through my husband’s faithful and unconditional love for me, that I have been able to start turning that around. My father in law has helped as well. He is one of the most faithful dads I have ever seen, and it’s been so incredibly helpful watching him as a dad towards his children.

When my husband and I went through a period in our relationship, prior to marriage, when we were asked to cut off all communication with each other, my heart ached because I lost my best friend during that time. I remember getting home after having been told we weren’t allowed to talk anymore, and my dad giving me a partial hug and saying, “if your heart is hurting, then you did something wrong.” I knew then and there I wasn’t going to be able to trust him with my relationship with my husband. And later, proof that I couldn’t trust him became very obvious. My dad never took the time to listen or care for my heart, but instead told me I was lusting after this guy because I wanted to be in a relationship with him. He told me that I was making an idol out of the relationship as well, and that there was no wisdom is even being friends. When asked why, my dad never gave me a straight answer, other than that because he said so.

Recently, my trust has been broken several times with some friends. One time, most recent, was someone who decided that being a “faithful friend” meant telling me what I was doing wrong and why, not taking the time to ask questions, listen to my hurting heart, or seek to understand what I was struggling with. I reached the realization last night that I can no longer trust that person, nor do I have any desire to renew trust or friendship with her. If she is more willing to point out what I’m doing wrong, instead of having compassion on me, then it is not worth sharing with her what my heart seeks to understand and is burdened with. I refuse to share with someone who is so legalistic that they are more concerned with how what I say fits in their legalistic box, than what I am trying to say. Those are the kind of people that everything you say can, and will, be used against you.

Here’s my up side to all of this. My trust is deep. When I put my trust in someone, I will trust them with all that I have. Knowing, though, that they will probably mess up, I am willing to over look that. I am eager to give someone grace and a chance to prove themselves to me, should they misuse my trust at all. I have a big heart, and I am so willing to trust those around me.  I do have a big heart, but you can picture it with many layers of tape, stitches, rope around it, and gaping holes in it. I have been hurt a lot, but it has been through the pain and heart-ache that I have grown to have compassion and give grace to others.  My trust may be deep, but it really is fragile, especially when it comes to those who have used me in the past.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


Friendship – the wiles and graces

I have gone through times of being a loner when it comes to friendships. I’ve had too much crap that I’m trying to work through, or that was weighing on me. I’ve found that it really takes a very special kind of person to be able to put up with someone who carries a boat load of bricks around with them.  Honestly, it has been my fault as well, being in those lonely times. I was so depressed that I was seriously sucking the life out of the friends who were brave enough to be near me and listen to me.  But, through the concerns of three dear friends, I was able to see what I was doing to my friends, and immediately turned things around.

That didn’t mean that the depression/discouragement let up, or that things were all warm and fuzzy. I really did mess up a friendship really badly, and it was only through my heart completely changing that this friendship was able to be restored. That friend is now one of my closest and dearest friends, and I am so, so blessed to have a friend like her. I love our 2 and a half hour conversations full of tears, laughter, verbal hugs, and gasping over recent drama.

I am a loyal friend. I will fight tooth and nail for any one of my friends and God help you, should you try to mess with one of those friends. I believe that a friendship should be two sided, both people working on a friendship together.  I find it extremely hard to give up on friends, even if I am wearing myself out trying to keep the friendship alive. My husband can attest to the small handful of friendships that I still mourn to this day.

I have been greatly hurt through friendships, and I have also been given a lot of grace and love through other friendships. Friendships are finicky, especially when there is a certain level of distrust, or distance, intermingled with the friendship. I have had friendships where those I thought were friends have stabbed me in the back, or who have simply just fallen off the face of the earth, no explanation at all. I have had friends who weren’t willing to work  out issues, and I still wonder if I could have done anything different to mend that friendship. That’s when I realize that it’s  not worth the energy if there is no reciprocation from the other side.

I wrote a blog post, on another blog, a few weeks ago, talking about the importance of compassion and grace towards those who are hurting. I also shared in my post on slander, that I had had several people come to me and try to tell me how what I am writing about, or sharing, is slanderous to my parents and disrespectful. Here’s the problem I have with the way these people came to me. They were so concerned about what I was doing “wrong” and how they felt I needed to change. There was no compassion, no grace, and above all, they felt they were being faithful friends. I feel bad for them, and for their friends, if they feel like tearing someone down and pointing out their “sin” means that they are being faithful as a friend.

I have seen several instances where someone has shared, on FB or in a blog post, how their life sucks, or things are just terrible.  It has made me so mad when those who comment are so worried about how the post is slanderous, or how bad language is a sin, or they should be grateful they are even alive. Heck, where’s the grace, people?! where’s the care for the hurting? I wish more people would care and ask questions for those who express even the tiniest bit of sorrow.  I read something the other day about how it isn’t having emotions that causes you to doubt yourself. Those who say that your emotional reaction isn’t legitimate, are the ones who cause the doubting.

I desire to be the kind of friend you can trust. The friend who cares how you really, truly are doing, and the one who will listen without judging. I mean to be the friend who will correct, if need be, but will do so without judging, and instead will have compassion. My experiences, of having people verbally beat me down for sharing my story, have given me a lot of grace, compassion, and tolerance for others who are hurting.

I say bring it on people, I’m here to fight for my friends and to be the most loyal and caring friend that I can be.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


“you have two weeks to leave”

I have never dealt with something from the past few years. I’m not sure if I really want to either. To be perfectly honest. But here, I shall at least attempt to try to deconstruct these difficult layers.

About a year and a half ago, I was in the midst of probably some of the hardest, and darkest, days of my life. It seemed like nothing is really going right. My then fiance and I were still trying to get married, and it really didn’t seem like there was an end to the tunnel coming anytime soon.  One of my dearest friends had gone into a coma from a brain aneurysm, and I missed her care for me and her big smile and hug she would always give me when she saw me.  The potential of losing this dear girl was just another layer to add to the already thick onion my life had become.

About a month after she went into the coma, frustrations and issues with my fiance’s and my parents were getting straightened out….or so I thought. I had grown cynical of us ever making it to a wedding day, and I found that I didn’t have much hope for the seemingly close light at the end of the tunnel. My dad still wouldn’t talk with me, and I was giving up on trying to restore any sort of balance. From the pity parties he would have, to the harsh words he would use to snap at me or my siblings, I did my best to stay out of his way and not say anything that would incriminate myself.

During a meeting that my fiance, his parents, my parents, and I had, his dad encouraged my dad, ignoring the dark look on my dad’s face, to take me out on a date, and really spend time listening to me. Both my fiance and I looked at each other with “yeah right, that’s going to happen!” faces. Yet again, I initiated going out with my dad. Seriously, I have become so sick of initiating conversations with him, dinner dates, coffee dates, ANYTHING to try to work on our father-daughter relationship. Ya know what, screw father-daughter relationships. I am done trying, and have been for over a year now. If my dad wants a relationship with me, he’s going to have  stop blaming everyone else for his problems, and accept that it is because of him that I have no desire to have any sort of relationship with him.

We went out for a coffee date, per my request and initiation (last time I did that, btw). I even told him I was done. That I had initiated every dinner date we had. And he told me that he had been seriously considering kicking me out of the house. I asked him why, and his response was so unfeeling. He told me that he was so frustrated with me, he didn’t want to deal with me. Great dad, that’s such a loving way to treat your daughter. I love that you’re caring for me.

Pardon my cynicism. It doesn’t take much for my cynical heart to pop back up to the surface. I think that cynicism is the direct product of a broken heart.

Going back home after our short and blunt, at least on my part, coffee date, I had no idea what was in store for me. I knew that he had told me that he wasn’t thinking about kicking me out anymore, so I guess that was good. He had complained that I wasn’t talking to him, and I told him that I had nothing to say to him. I told him I didn’t trust him. And i knew there was a huge possibility he would never remember or would actually hear the things I told him. I walked away from that coffee date knowing that it hadn’t gotten me anywhere, and I was fine with that. I really didn’t expect anything different.

About a week later, my friend died.

I still continued with work, struggled with the way my dad wasn’t treating me, and feeling that claustrophobic feeling of I have to get out of here. I had tried to move out a year prior, but had succumbed to the guilt trips from my dad about how my siblings would be negatively impacted if I left them. Besides, he said, I didn’t have transportation. Too much opposition. It was just too much for me to figure out and fight against.

A year later, I was beginning to feel that now was the right time to move out. The day before my dear friend’s funeral, I went to breakfast with my mom. It was probably one of the most tense meals I’ve ever had with her. we were both on edge, and she was stuck between my dad and me, and obviously felt torn. we ended our breakfast with me saying that maybe it is time for me to move out. her response shocked me when she agreed with me. Upon getting home, I immediately started thinking about how I was going to move out, or at least who to get counsel from about moving ahead with moving out.

I was working on getting some piles of clothes and such cleaned up, when suddenly both of my parents burst into my room, and my dad shut the door behind him. My first feeling was one of dread and anxiety. This was so not cool.

My dad told me that he had talked with mom about the breakfast we had had that morning, and that he wanted me to move as soon as possible. “Within the next two weeks.” He told me that he’s tired of dealing with me, and doesn’t have time for me anymore.  He told me that I’m a bad influence on my siblings, that he wants me gone, and that he’s tired of me not helping out my mom. Gosh, I was gone 5 days a week, working a full time job! I didn’t have the physical time, or energy, to do every chore around the house when getting home late from work!  He looked around my room and told me that my bed had to stay and to talk with mom about what else I could take. With that, he left the room, and I was left in a puddle of shocked tears. I called my fiance and tearfully told him what had just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that stinkin’ mad.  He actually had to get off the phone with me because he was so mad he couldn’t speak. He ended up calling my dad, and trying to chew my dad out for kicking me out.  My fiance asked my dad if he had taken the time to listen to me or hear my heart. my dad told him that I didn’t have a choice and I was moving out. no matter what.

I sat in my room in shock, and when my mom came by later, I couldn’t believe what she told me. She said that appeals were welcomed.  I sat there, reeling. I was just told, by my mom, that my dad wanted me to come to him, and beg and plead to let me stay. how the heck could I do that when the things he wanted me to do were in no way possible for me to do?! Heck no, I wasn’t going to go appeal. It truly was time for me to leave. This decision was further cemented when multiple people came to me and said that my dad had told them that appeals were welcomed. I never, not once, heard that directly from my dad. There was no way on earth I was willing, anymore, to bow down to his egotistical reign over my family. I was done.

Later that evening, my mom told me everyone else was going out to dinner, and I could come along if I wanted to. I didn’t really want to stay home, besides, what’s not to like about a free meal. my dad was in extraordinarily chipper spirits, and all of my siblings and I felt like there was something really messed up with that picture. He had just told his oldest child and daughter to move out, and then here he is, less than 8 hours later, happy and cheerful at dinner. It was so sickening. I have never been more grateful for working 9.5 hours a day than I was those following two weeks before I moved out.

I was home as little as I could be. My heart felt shredded, and no more would I try to initiate any sort of relationship with my dad. I felt used, manipulated, crushed, betrayed, unloved, misunderstood.

Even though three months later I let my dad walk me down the aisle, I hated it every step of the way. I could not wait to reach my love and be away from the man I did not know who walked beside me.

I do not trust that man. I don’t honestly think I will ever trust him again. And that’s okay. When my husband and I start our family, he will not be allowed near our children. I don’t care how “hurt” he feels, his grandchildren will never know him. I never want my children to feel like their parents don’t love them. I don’t want my children to feel the pain that a hypocritical dad can leave behind. My dad is self-centered, self-pitying, and he has lost most of his kids’ respect. I think rightly so.

The hardened part of my heart is still not willing to let my dad back into my life. For all I care, I don’t want him around until it is clear that he has repented, changed, and is actively seeking out his children to win them back. I do not see myself initiating another coffee/dinner date with my dad. He has actively stepped on, crushed, and broken my heart too many times.

Readers, be careful how you treat your children. A child has a very deep memory. They have an even deeper memory when it comes to feeling/being hurt.  Be careful.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


Sharing negative experiences = Slander….huh?

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post, on another blog of mine, going into a slightly more detailed version of some of things that have hurt me in the past. Writing about my past isn’t unusual on this other blog, but the response I suddenly got was. What happened next totally spiraled out of control and left both my husband and I spinning and wondering what the heck just happened. and it is because of what happened that has caused me to start this blog to gain a sense of anonymity as I work through and heal from my past.

Now…allow me to back up a few steps.

I have been through a lot in my short life. I am the oldest of a large family, and therefore have had a lot of responsibility put on my shoulders, starting when I was very young. I practically raised several of my youngest siblings while my mom went through a year a breast cancer, and then chemo. I ran the house, did grocery runs, made meals, cleaned up most of the house, did the laundry, all when I was 12. My dad was prone, and I suppose you can say still is, to massive outbursts of anger. I came very skilled at avoiding his outbursts, and helping my siblings learn the ropes of staying out of the way when daddy lost it. I watched my parents fight, and fight hard, and I hide in my room, crying and worrying that it was my fault. Who can explain to a little 10 year old that her parents’ fights have nothing to do with her? My siblings “hated” me for getting to do things that they weren’t allowed to do, but how I could I explain I hated myself? We were all split up in twos to go to different families from church when mom went through one of her surgeries that year she had cancer. I was paired with my youngest brother (and sibling at the time), but when the family came to get us, I was told, inadvertently, that they really only wanted my brother, but I had to come along anyway.  For a 12 year old, barely having reached womanhood half way through the year before, and already struggling with feeling accepted, this was hell. Pure, straight up, lonely, burning hell. I still have some pretty sharp feelings regarding that family.

Jump ahead to year 14, we were moving yet again. With my dad in the military, this happened every 3-6 years. I hated moving. I hated leaving behind the very thin friendships I had formed in that short time, knowing that no matter what promises were given to me, I would never hear from those friends again.  This time, moving was different though from all of the past times we had moved. I was older, mom was literally just finishing her last round of chemo, and as soon as the truck had left all of our stuff, my dad got really sick. He never gets sick, and so once again, I was in charge, and I unpacked the house since mom had no energy left after the chemo all but destroyed her body. It’s incredibly scary watching your mom deteriorate before your eyes, and not really understanding what was going on with her, or why she didn’t have the brilliant memory she used to have.

About two years after moving in, I found out a very damaging fact about my dad. It broke my heart and destroyed any trust I had in him. I couldn’t look him in the eyes for about 6 months after my mom, in desperation, told me what was the root of all of their marital problems. that same day she told me, I caught 6 of my siblings gathered around one of the school computers, laughing and looking at porn. My heart was ripped to shreds that day. That was the first time I severely broke down. I cried out to God and asked “Why?!” so many times. I became increasingly depressed and had to fight each day to make it through the day. I was now 15, sucking the life from the few friends I had who were brave enough to come near me. At the same time, I start deteriorating physically and being an avid pianist, this was torture. I couldn’t sit down at my beloved emotional release and pound away under the pain in my heart and soul was pushed back into it’s Pandora’s box. My wrists and shoulders hurt so bad sometimes, it was all I could do to curl up in a pain and sob. I was an emotionless robot that hurt very deeply. The only way I knew to make it without killing myself was to shut down.

4 years later at 19, I had finally been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, had been told by my dad that I was a big disappointment, met the man of my dreams, had been told to stop playing the piano because I was going to severely damage my hands and wrists, among many other things. Add those years to an already painful life, and sure, my life has been full of “negative” experiences, and honestly, those have been used to create the person who is writing this post today.

Skipping forward to today, here’s where I’m at right now.

After getting kicked out of the house and being told by my dad that he had had enough of me and didn’t want to deal with me anymore, I married my beloved husband 3 months later, and have now been happily married for just about a year and half. Everything written above has never been dealt with, and I am slowly cracking open that Pandora’s box. It is certainly hard to let just one hurt come out without all of the other connecting wounds follow. Through blogging about some of these, in very slim detail, on my other blog, I have been able to start slowly dealing with my past. And to deal with my past, I have had to write a lot of what I wrote above. There’s no way around it, my dad has severely hurt me, my trust in people is very thin and yet very strong, and I have had a lot of pain inflicted on me.

I believe I am stronger for it, and not only that, through sharing my story, I am, in a way, reassuring myself that I am not imagining the pain or heartache. How people respond to my story, as unfinished and bare-bones as it is, has greatly helped in being willing to pry the lid of the box open even more. But it’s those who decide that me sharing that my dad hurt me, or even hinting at that, is slander, that makes me so pissed. Receiving an email explaining to me in detail about how what I am writing is disrespectful to my parents, slanderous, and dishonoring to God, and here’s scriptures to back of those points does little to make me receptive to any sort of thoughts this person thought they could share.

I’ll be bluntly honest here. I may seem strong, intimidating, unshaken by the world around me. Believe me, I wish I could be. I am always doubting whether or not I am worth anything, whether or not I am beautiful, precious. my heart hurts, and some days I am on the very verge of tears. it has taken an amazing husband willing to put aside his misunderstandings of what I’ve been through, and love me for who I am, to hold me when tears come and I don’t know why, and to listen when I am trying to piece together a memory that has left me broken again and crumpled in a heap on the bed to believe that I am truly worth listening to, and that I am beautiful. But when someone decides that it means to be a faithful friend to spiritually manipulate me into agreeing with them that I can’t share my story and heal, then that person has never walked in my shoes or those of others who have been through what I have.  To be continually pressured into agreeing with something I cannot agree with is infuriating to start with, but when my husband begins to be accused of not leading his wife well because we aren’t agreeing, I will not stand by and let this happen anymore. Is it too much to ask for care, compassion, and understanding instead of condescension, judgement, and manipulation? Is it too much to ask for questions instead of assumptions?

As I am already struggling with trying to understand, and pick apart, why I believe what I believe, being spiritually abused and manipulated isn’t going to help that process. If anything, it’s made me even more cynical towards church, church culture, and people how are so religiously legalistic. Seriously, how is sending a long email, carefully detailing where I have gone wrong in my writing, and giving me scriptures that back up that point, going to help me in loving God more, or cast aside my “sin” and seek God more? The brutal truth is that it’s not. when someone is more concerned about whether or not I’m blogging about them, and making sure that our friendship is all good, than asking how they can ask better questions to understand me, I lose respect and any desire for a close friendship really fast.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


Introduction to the venting

For anyone who stumbles upon this blog, be aware that what ever I so choose to write, it will be of my personal grievances and venting.  There are many things I have to say that require anonymity on my part, and this is where I can now vent without bring slander or gossip on others.  This blog is for that specific purpose. It is meant to give me a clean landscape.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


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