Tag Archives: hurt

And then you broke my heart – Courtship, Part 2

I couldn’t keep Daniel away from me that night at the party. I would turn around and he would be right at my shoulder, big smile, and a running mouth that wouldn’t stop chatting with me. My heart knew this was one heck of an awesome guy and I was falling head over heels for him.

We danced for hours that night, swing dancing, laughing, and talking after our week of no communication. It was exhilarating and comforting to be back on talking terms with Daniel. That night I texted him and told him how much I loved dancing with him. He texted back and said that he still didn’t want to be texting yet but that he enjoyed dancing with me too.

Our church was in the middle of doing a high school play and both Daniel and I were involved. As rehearsals got more intense and as opening night for closer the more I got to see Daniel. I was 100% sure he was just as interested in me as I was in him. Especially when he was having to be reminded often that he was needed on stage instead of talking with me. We got close and spent a lot more time as the days past almost attached at the hip. We were inseparable but I felt like something was going to go wrong. More and more of my friends were coming to me asking if it was wise that I spent so much time talking with Daniel. They were concerned for my heart and didn’t want to see me get hurt. I brushed off all of their concerns and told them that we were just friends. But I quietly worried that something really bad was going to happen because I had seen close friends spilt because parents felt like the couple was too close.

It was the week before opening night and I got really upset about so many people butting into my business and worrying over how much I was in Daniels company. It didn’t help that as I was working in a prop piece Daniel was right there keeping me company and chatting away. I was so sick at heart because I knew something was starting to go wrong. He left that night after rehearsal and I ignore him with a very heavy heart and a sick stomach. I have often been able to tell when something’s about to blow up and this was one of those times. On another note, I had found a caring and wise ear in my adopted grandfather and when he had visited the two weeks before I had talked for hours with him about my feelings for Daniel. Since i felt like I couldn’t talk with my dad about Daniel, it was such a relief to talk with my grandfather. He had promised after talking with me that was going to write Daniel a letter and encourage him to pursue me if he felt like that was what he was supposed to do. Looking back, the promise of this letters was quite significant in changing the direction of my feelings toward Daniel.

The next morning, I woke up with a very queasy and nervous stomach. Today was the day that I knew something was going to happened. I remember sending a few messages to Daniel, but when I didn’t get any sort of response, I remember thinking something’s wrong. My grandfathers letter to Daniel arrived in the mail that day and I was anxious to give it to him but I decided that I wanted my dad to give him the letter. I figured my dad would be willing to do that especially since my grandfather spent a while trying to talk to my dad about Daniel and I. I should have known better than to ask my dad to get involved but I am getting ahead of myself. I left for rehearsal excited and very nervous since I knew something was up. I got to church and started working on what I hadn’t finished from the day before. I soon saw Daniel get there and my heart sank. He was pale, almost looked like he had been crying and he completely ignored me. He grabbed the mutual friend who had introduced us and asked to talk with her. My heart dropped further and I ran in the opposite direction frantically dialing a best friend’s number. As soon as she picked up, I said something is very wrong and I am very nervous and anxious. She talked and listened for about five minutes when I got another call from Daniels and my mutual friend. I switched calls and this friend told me that Daniel wants to talk with me and could I meet them at the back entrance to church. I got back on the phone with my best friend and told her to pray and pray hard because here comes the storm. I hung up and saw my other friend walking toward me and my heart started cracking. When she came up to me I could barely talk and as we started walking toward where Daniel was I stopped and started crying saying I couldn’t do this. I was so close to passing out and even as I write this I am feeling the pain all over again. My heart aches for what happened next.

I walked up to the back entrance of church and felt the bombs hitting my heart as the black fog rolled in over h eyes. Daniel looked sick and he was incredibly nervous. He barely looked me in the eyes, and I was really lightheaded and my heart felt like it was being completely ripped to shreds. With our mutual friend standing by my side, and Daniel facing me, he started the little meeting by telling me in a choked voice how much I meant to him, that he will never forget me, and that I mean the world to him. He then told me with tears in his eyes that his parents told him that we needed to cut off our friendship and we couldn’t talk, chat, email, or even be in groups together. I could barely see him because of the black fog that was cutting off my vision, and I was starting to sway on my feet. My heart hurt so bad. He asked me if I had any questions or if there was anything I wanted to say, and I could only shake my head. He then bolted out the door, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was gone for several hours running, crying, praying, and just trying to understand what he should do now. After he left, I staggered outside and fell to the ground stunned. I lay there with quiet tears falling, and I felt so empty. I somehow found myself inside the church about an hour later, I wandered around in a daze. I didn’t have any strength to do any costume work, but at the same time I was suddenly determined to act like nothing had happened even though my heart was no longer beating.

I can’t describe the pain my heart felt that day (and I’m feeling it again as I write. I am very much anxious for my husband to get home for I need that reassurance that he is mine now). I asked our mutual friend to ask Daniel something for me. I asked her to ask him if he, in the future, could see himself courting/marrying me. She asked him and then brought me back the answer. She said that he gave her a resounding absolutely yes in response to my question. When I saw Daniel get back from his escape, I felt my heart shatter all over again, and I realized that I couldn’t handle being there any longer. Even though the major part of rehearsal was just starting, I had to go home. I called my mom and told her what had happened and asked her to tell dad and come get me. She came and picked me up, and as soon as I got home, my dad gave me a hug, and then told me that if my heart was hurting then I did something wrong. I was stunned when he told me that, but I didn’t say anything. I lay on my bed for the rest of the evening crying and missing desperately my best friend, and cursing the separation.

The few weeks that followed as the play came to an end were torture. I could barely eat, and I honestly don’t remember much. I remember being in a daze and finding it hard to breathe at times. My heart was broken, my dad didn’t care, and the friend Daniel had become was desperately missed. (oh snap, I’m crying now as I write and am remembering those days.) After the play ended up, I didn’t see Daniel all that often. Maybe saw him at church, or saw him at a party, but we didn’t go to the same places, and I bitterly felt that loss. As the months slowly passed, I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. My parents and I went to a seminar at church for parenting young adults, and guess what, Daniel and his parents sat right behind us. That was pure torture knowing that the guy I was falling in love with was siting right behind me. I tried to talk with mom about the severe heartache I felt, but I couldn’t. She didn’t understand and so I kept my mouth shut and only talked to the people I knew I could trust and who would care for me. I tried sharing the story with the small group I was now apart of since I had graduate HS and they didn’t get it one bit.

Shortly after our friendship was shattered, we both asked our parents to meet and try to help us come up with a game plan so that we could talk, or at least have guidelines. All four parents met, and came out of that meeting all with very different ideas of what was going to happen. The bottom line was that we couldn’t talk, and that was it. No talking with us, no trying to understand where we were coming from, the parents shut things down, and then walked away believing that was all that should or would happen. My dad believed that it was a done deal and there was nothing between Daniel and I. That summer was the absolutely worst summer of my entire life. I was a ghost of my former self, and I was painfully aware of the gaping whole in my heart. I saw Daniel at several key points over the summer, but the friendship that we had had was never seen when we ran into each other at social events. It was incredibly awkward and I always walked away kicking myself and blaming myself for causing him more pain if I was rude (without meaning to be) or abrupt. Being in the single’s ministry meant that I saw him at big meetings for all of the singles, and after one of those, I told him that I had to remove him from my friends list on Facebook. That was very difficult for me to tell him, but I had to do it because of the flack I was starting to get from my dad if I was even seen near Daniel at church or anywhere else. If I breathed in Daniel’s general direction, I was immediately chewed out.

Life was HELL. I was lost, and I can’t remember large portions between April, when he told me we couldn’t talk anymore, to October, when the next big chapter started. We kept individually begging our parents (what I don’t understand is how we were singles, seen as adults, and yet still allowed our parents to completely control our relationship…that’s the courtship dilemma for ya) to get together and give us guidelines so we could talk, and each time the parents met, they all walked away with a very different idea of what was going to happen, not one parents’ recollection of the meeting lined up, and still, we weren’t allowed to talk.

Around July, I suddenly realized that I didn’t just like Daniel, I had fallen in love with him, and I knew for sure and for certain that I was waiting for him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I found out later that he had had the same revelation about me…a few months before. I broke down on the day I realized that, and freaked my dad out because when I called him at work (which I will never do again, and have never done since) to tell him that I loved Daniel and I wanted to be able to talk with him, my dad was hugely surprised because he truly believed that there was nothing between us. I got a huge talking to when he got home from work that night about how I was making Daniel an idol, and how I was lusting after him, and that no, we weren’t going to be allowed to talk, there was nothing there. He kept telling me that I would grow out of this, and that it wasn’t wisdom for us to talk.  I remember walking away, feeling renewed in my determination to not let my dad take away my love for Daniel. I felt sick that my dad was accusing me of being idolatrous especially when I knew of his porn addiction.

Daniel had started finding reasons and opportunities to come over to my family’s house in September, 5 months after our friendship had been destroyed. I would nervously bounce around the house, trying to obey the rules that I couldn’t talk with him, but I would try to be around wherever he was, and would throw in the token word every once in awhile. I even found an opportunity to hand him a letter I had written to him the day after he told me we couldn’t talk anymore. But even though I knew he was strongly interested in me, I still had had no verbal assurances from him.

One day I had had enough of trying to guess Daniel’s feelings for me, and I had had enough of not being able to talk. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I called him, and as soon as he picked up the phone, I asked him how he felt about me. His response was instant with no delay.

He loved me.

He wanted to marry me.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

And that’s the end….right?


Remember When Dreams Faded…

I watched a darling three year old the other day, and had an absolute blast with her. There is something rejuvenating interacting with an innocent child and there is something refreshing watching their joy at the simple things in life. A lot of memories from my own childhood came back as I watched and listen to her prattle on about favorite things as she shared her little life with me.

As I watched her make up playmates and give her toys voices, I realized I have no memories of doing that. I frantically tried to remember any time I might have made up scenarios for my dolls or played with imaginative playmates, but I only had foggy memories. By the time I had reached 10, I was already an “adult” and had lost any desire to make my dolls my playmates. My siblings and I built forts and made up towns in our basement. That only happened though when all of us got along…which usually wasn’t very often. But when we did get along, the stories about the towns we came up with were quite elaborate. That all stopped when I was 12 though. Every once and a while I would be convinced by my brother to build the Lego houses I was quite known for. He still, at 20, reminds me of those several story houses I used to build.

At 12, I was in charge of meals, cleaning, laundry, raising my two youngest siblings, and I was supposed to still be doing my school work. Somehow I fell off the school radar around the time Mom got breast cancer, and then I was in charge of grocery shopping as well. I remember feeling like everything I did didn’t matter when families brought over meals for us. I used to silently question whether or not I was good enough to cook for my family. I used to be mad at the families who provided meals for us because I felt like everyone was doubting my ability to take care of the house or the meals. I was trapped between wanting to be affirmed for the work I did, and wanting to not have so much responsibility.

Someone was babysitting us one time and I broke down in sudden tears because she wasn’t letting me do my job and she was letting the kids be kids as they raced around the house, was loud, and played lots of games. I rarely cried, but when I did it was because I couldn’t take it anymore and a LOT had built up. She comforted me by telling me that I should let my siblings be kids and that I was just a kid and needed to act like one. I couldn’t explain to her how and why I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make her understand why I wasn’t a kid, and I couldn’t explain the problems that wracked my family. That is when I realized that I wasn’t a child anymore and from 12 years old and on, I was an old spirit in a young confused body.

My biggest problem with large families raised in a Patriarchy/Quiverfull mindset is the weight that is put on the oldest daughter. I have read articles, and heard parents talk, about how they don’t believe in teenagers, or even that their children can’t handle the heavy theology or ideas that the parents start inducting them into at a very early age. The parents treat their children as if their children are already adults, but then lose it when a child acts like a child and the parents come down harder with the discipline. Because of being treated like an adult by my parents, it always was hugely confusing when I got in trouble for something I didn’t think I’d get in trouble for. Or something I didn’t think I should get in trouble for.

I hear a lot of parents wanting to raise their children to make good, wise decisions [on their own], but I barely see parents, especially P/Q parents, allowing their children to do that. My husband and I have had a lot of discussions about what we will or won’t allow our children to do. Even though I grew up with more maturity than most people my age, and I don’t regret having that, I don’t want my children to feel like they can’t act their age.  I don’t want to see my children frozen in a state of responsibility that makes it hard for them to imagine, create, or be risk-takers in their endeavors.  I am stuck right now feeling unsure of what my “gifts” are.  I was so concerned about shouldering my responsibilities that I never had time to really grow creatively or let my imagination blossom.

If parents are so concerned with teaching their children to make good decisions, then why are there so many grown up children fighting to make those good decisions as their parents beat them down and still try to make decisions for them. A friend told me a few months ago that even though parents are usually wiser than us kids, even they don’t know what is best for us all of the time. Even though I knew this, I hadn’t ever put it into words.  This is what frustrated me the most in my relationship with my husband, prior to marriage.

When I met my husband, I was in that unknown stage between being a child and a young adult, able to make her own decisions. I hadn’t pushed my parents [yet] into letting me make my own decisions. The decisions I had made myself were, more often than not, the decisions they wanted me to make. The frustration, the confusion, and the pain of not feeling like my parents trusted me was dizzying as I made decisions (with my now husband) like I had been taught, but was not allowed the freedom to make them. More on our relationship story later though.

I still find myself wringing my hands in frustration and confusion as I try to figure out what I am good at. I feel a great sense of loss looking back and feeling the numbness my 12 year old self felt when realizing I could never be, nor was I, a care free girl. I have broken out of the added weight of feeling responsible to raise my siblings, or to be the oldest child to set the example for my younger siblings. But I still feel lost. I still don’t know what my gifts are, or what I should pursue now.

I am good with kids because I am the oldest of 9, and have nannied for over 3 years on top of having raised most of my siblings. I have played the piano for 12 years and am good at it because it was my dad’s dream for me, and yet it carries some harsh memories because of his disappointment when his dream crumbled because I couldn’t play anymore. I am a historically accurate seamstress because the only way we were going to be able to do reenacting was if I made the clothes myself. I took voice lessons for 1 1/2 years because I wanted to, but had to stop when Mom couldn’t afford to drive me to lessons each week since i wasn’t taking piano lessons at the same place anymore. I sometimes wonder if the reason why I couldn’t take voice lessons anymore was because I could no longer follow my dad’s dream with the piano. I love to write because this is the only outlet I have left for the emotions that erupt from my heart and mind at times. But am I good at writing, singing, sewing, playing the piano, taking care of other’s children? I think I am, but those are all connected to the grave responsibilities I was placed under as a child.

Playing the piano became my dream when I discovered I had a natural talent for music. But that crumbled when I developed FM, carpal tunnel, and tendinitis. Singing was amazing, and I was slowly discovering bravery and confidence when that had to stop because I couldn’t play the piano anymore. I took sign language for 4 years and loved it, but the stress of living at home that brought on the Fibromyalgia, also caused me to stop signing because I had to focus on things at home.  I used to write poetry, lots of it, but I stopped when it became too heavy and depressing. I showed my mom some of my poems, and she didn’t understand the pain I felt. There is a certain emptiness felt when you stand before a field of broken dreams, lost dreams, or buried dreams.  I am rediscovering how to dream, but sometimes I feel too cynical or too “grown up” to dream.

do you dream? can you dream?

 


Breaking the Silence

I know I’ve been pretty quiet recently, both here on my blog, and on other blogs. After the last post, I stepped back from posting for awhile. It has helped taking a break from writing, and now I’m ready to jump back in for a bit more time. A little bit of news though. My husband’s and my courtship story was put up on Julie Anne’s blog, BGBC Survivors, yesterday, so please go take a look! I will probably be starting a series of more in depth posts about our story sometime in the coming months.

Over the past few weeks, life has been doubly hectic as my husband prepares his finals and is busy with his nose stuck to the computer screen or buried in a book. We also had Thanksgiving, and I’ve decided that I really don’t care for the holidays. Every major holiday brought a frantic calling around to see which family we could invite over for the holiday. We were desperate for others to be there for Thanksgiving, or Easter, and sometimes even Christmas. If there were other people there that meant that there was a better chance of Dad not blowing up at someone, or making everyone miserable with his degrading words. Having never lived close to relatives, getting together with them for holidays never happened. Over the past 4 years, it’s been harder to find people who were willing to get together with my family for holidays. Because of not having a lot of traditions for holidays, my family pretty much spends Christmas, or Thanksgiving, like it’s a regular old day with an abnormally large meal in the middle of the day.

Integrating into my husband’s family has been quite an eye opener to me. They have relatives in the area, and each holiday that they celebrate, everyone gets together. It’s been a blast, and I do regret not having these traditions with my family, but at the same time, I don’t regret it. We could all barely stand each other and due to that, birthdays, holidays, and other celebrations were awkward, uncomfortable, and more often than not, felt fake.  The cute little cards my siblings would make for each other on birthdays and the card from mom and dad would be sweet and encouraging, I guess, but I couldn’t take them as truth because it was only once a year I would read that my parents were proud of me, or encouraged to see this or that in me.

A week ago today was Thanksgiving. Memories of last years guilt trips from my mom and dad about not eating a meal with them haunted me as I prepared to buckle down for the whirlwind of activities. The curse of living 15 minutes away from both families is trying to make everyone happy and content with what we decide. Neither of us enjoy spending time with my family, and besides, they don’t plan anything. Ha, I remember Mother’s Day this past year….it was miserable, and I spent the entire time trying to ignore the jabs my dad was constantly making to my younger siblings. I finally snapped and told him that it was so uncomfortable to be around him, and would he please just stop. He got mad at me and told me “welcome to my life.” Sheesh, it’s no wonder I don’t enjoy being over at my family’s house for holidays.

This year for Thanksgiving, I checked, checked, and double checked, to make sure that we knew what my parents were doing, or not doing. They didn’t have anything planned, nor did they have any idea at what time they would eat the thanksgiving meal. I finally told my mom that I didn’t know if we’d be able to stop by since we were driving an hour with my husband’s family to spend thanksgiving evening with his extended family. We did finally decide to stop over at my family’s for a little bit, and thankfully didn’t run into my dad at all for most of the entire time we were there.

I went inside to grab my coat to head out and I walked in to my dad getting in my mom’s face yelling at her. Great. Just the memory I wanted to have to carry with me.  I walked out the door as several of my siblings verbally came to my mom’s defense, and to my dad storming off back upstairs to whatever he does up there.  That simply solidified why I do not go to my family’s house right now.

The rest of our Thanksgiving was good, and we had a lot of fun with my husband’s family and extended family. Even still, I do not like the holidays. I don’t like the holidays because there is so much emphasis on family, happiness, joy, peace. I don’t know what that’s like, and it’s hard for me to feel anything other than please let this pass quickly. I don’t like birthdays because they were always awkward affairs with the family trying to pretend to be happy that one of it’s members was turning a year older. I have broken down and told my husband I can’t go to his family’s birthday celebrations because it makes me realize how much I’ve missed and it really hurts. I’ve never told them this truth, but it still hurts a little bit when we celebrate one of his siblings’ or parents’ birthdays.

Christmas is coming up, but I hoping that my family will still be going out of town. if they do still decide to go out of town, we will not be celebrating Christmas with them because it’s too long of a drive to where they’re going for us to go for one day. I am looking forward to my inlaws’ Christmas celebration though. It is promising to be quite an adventure, and I am really discovering I love doing things with this family. They are always very gun-ho about doing spontaneous things, and I love being told what to bring to make the gathering so much more exciting!

I still don’t like the holidays though. I will be much more happy when January 1st passes and I can breathe a sigh of relief.


I will not repeat the past

The weepy teary-eyed moments usually hit when I least expect it. More phrases or memories have been triggering these weepy moments recently, and it’s becoming harder to predict when something will trigger my emotions. I find myself getting to the evening and starting to crash emotionally and hitting a wall, and wanting to just curl up and not have to work through things anymore.

My hubby and I had a conversation the other night about hoping for something and what it looks like when that hope is disappointed. I tried to explain to him how hard it is for me to hope for something, and to pray for it, because of how many times I’ve been so bitterly disappointed. We didn’t really agree on what it looked like to hope in Jesus, but as I rolled over to fall asleep, a bitter memory hit me, and I ended up curled up in my husband’s arms, crying, and hearing him whisper in my ear about how sorry he was that I had to deal with what I did growing up.

I never thought I’d say this, but I am angry at my mom. Like seriously angry, and what makes that harder is she does not know what she did. I’ve finally accepted the fact that I was truly alone growing up. I had no defender, I had no one to take my stand or to back me up. I keep trying to tell myself that I’m wrong, that I am exaggerating and making things up, but I can’t escape the truth; I. Was. Alone.  My siblings were alone, and most of them still are. We were alone as I watched my brothers get thrown around during my dad’s anger fits. We were alone when mom was out, and dad decided to start yelling and throwing things around because the house wasn’t clean enough for his high and mighty standards.

I never want a child of mine to feel the pain of having to stay at someone’s house for two hellish weeks, only to have found out at the beginning that that family really didn’t want you, they just wanted your younger brother. I don’t ever want any child of mine to feel like I would never defend them or stand up for them. I would never stand by and watch while a child of mine is verbally chewed out. The guilt (wrongly felt) and the shame (wrongly felt) I have grown up with is something I never want my children to feel.

I feel like my heart is breaking again trying to accept that I truly was alone growing up. I have opened up memories that I have not wanted to remember as I’ve looked back with these new eyes. I keep trying to defend my mom to myself, and telling myself that she really did stand up for us, for me, and the more I uncover, the harder it is to convince myself that she did. It’s like telling myself that this memory is the worst it’s going to get, and then being thrown back by the next memory when it is worse than the first.

I have had this post draining my already low energy reserves for the past week, and I’m still not sure of how it’s turning out. If anything, this opening of hard memories has shown me just how strength Jesus actually gave me through all of those years at home. I never really saw myself as strong, I just simply had to be the defender. It was that or I kill myself.  It was be my siblings’ defender, or let them crumble like dust. I am tired of being strong. All it takes to break my strength is one sleepless night followed by a day of major aches, then followed by a second sleepless night full of more aches and pains. Once in that cycle, it’s hard for me to break out, or to find the strength to hold up under memories I don’t want to remember but that have been triggered. The past two weeks have been that cycle for me, and it started when my mom told me that someone challenged her to repent of not standing up for my siblings and her response being she doesn’t know how she didn’t do that.

I passed my dad in his car on the road today as I drove home from a job. I almost burst into tears when I saw him because of how present the pain is right now. I want to have a relationship with him, and it hurts to not have one. I want to see him care and love my siblings, my mom, me. I want to see my mom recover and realize how much she’s denied throughout her life, and I want to see her heal.

I am fighting doldrums many times a day now, and I never know if I’m just going to break down and start crying or if I will find the strength to hold my head up and not let the memory get close to my heart. Jesus is a fading and shifting shadow to me right now. Sometimes He’s easy to reach out to, and other times He feels far away. I never doubt his love for me, I just get lost inside the pain.

It’s a low time right now for me. Especially as the weather gets colder and my fibromyalgia starts reacting towards the cold with a lot more pain than usual. The more pain I’m in, the more worn out and weary I feel. The more worn out and weary I feel, the less I fight to be strong.


Let Justice Be Served

Yesterday was a down-in-the-dumps day for me. I felt like I had hit another wall in this healing process, and it was freaking me out. I felt confused, lost, unsure of everything, and really discouraged. The deeper I go towards healing, the harder it gets to let go of who I used to be. It gets harder to step forward and trust that I’ll be okay. I don’t hit these walls often. Usually it’s only because I’ve started thinking again and trying to work things out.

Spiritually/emotionally I have no idea where I am right now. I simply look at my bible, and all I can hear, see, or remember is my dad’s hypocritical teaching, contradictory messages, and it leave me scrambling between places, unsure which is the truth and which is not. It’s dizzying, it’s mind boggling, and over all, it’s enough for me to walk away from my bible for a very long time. The two things I know for sure right now is that my faith is not dependent on whether or not I’m faithfully reading my bible, praying daily, or attending church each and every Sunday. The other thing is that I know Jesus loves me no matter what and He is faithful, He is loving me, and He is not going to hurt me, leave me, manipulate me, or force me to obey Him. He desires me; broken, hurting, lost, confused, weary me.

It is has greatly helped getting out of the SGM church we used to attend. I no longer feel pressured to fit into a certain mold. I am instead feeling love, grace, and mercy from people who are genuinely caring for me.

Several things happened this morning that has changed my down-in-the-dumps attitude. After the news about the SGM lawsuits came out about two weeks ago, I immediately sat down and wrote a long email to the senior pastor at the church we just left. My family still attends there, and I had a challenge for him. He had sent out an email to the church, and said that they, the pastors, take very seriously protecting children in abusive situations. My challenge for him was if they take that so seriously, then how come my siblings were deteriorating being under my dad, and are still in an abusive situation. It was a very long email, and one that was blunt, truthful, and challenging. I heard back from the pastor within 24 hours, and shortly after getting his response, I got a response from my parents’ pastor. Because my dad has been in counseling with the pastors for the four years that they have been going there, I also challenged the pastors on why my dad hadn’t been put in church discipline yet. I mean, come on, he has been addicted to porn for the past 30+ years, been married to my mom for 28 years, and has had kids for about 22 years, lost two jobs because of the porn, and has physically abused several of my siblings, and constantly lashes out in anger. How is that not cause enough to put him in church discipline?

I was surprised to get a response so quickly from the pastors. I have been trying to defend my siblings, sometimes unwanted on their part, for the past six years. How was yet another email/meeting/conversation going to change things? Writing my last post about being a defender caused things to get stirred up for me. I felt depressed and discouraged. I felt weary of bringing up my concerns again and again with no result. How was this time going to be any different?

After emailing back and forth a few times with my parents’s pastor, I finally said I could be convinced to meet with them, share my concerns (yet again!!), but I really didn’t see the purpose, nor did I want to meet. I knew walking back into that church was going to undo everything I’ve been able to work through since leaving. I have not stepped foot into that building for about 3 months now, and that has not been long enough. I haven’t heard back from the pastor again since telling him that I would be willing to meet only if the meeting could be specifically about my siblings and my dad, and if I could bring a friend/supporter with me. I thought that was it, and I expected this email exchange to be the same as every other time.

There was a curve ball that came out of all of this, and when I got a phone call from my mom this morning, I did not expect to hear what she called to tell me. About 5 months ago, my husband and I met with my parents’ pastor and shared concerns about how they were treating my dad too lightly, and to ask when church discipline was going to happen. The answer was that they were starting to lean towards church discipline. Not a definite, but they were definitely considering it. The months following that meeting didn’t bring any change, and I soon gave up hope that anything would happen.  That’s why, when my mom called, I was pleasantly surprised and realized I had done something to change things.

My parents met last night with the pastors, and their care group leaders, and my dad was told he was being put in church discipline if he did not repent. He was read a list of 6 reasons why they are putting him in church discipline, and there will be another meeting a week from today to challenge him again with those reasons and ask him to repent. My mom is finally, I believe, starting to see him for who he is, and not allowing her denial to cloud her judgement. As usual, my dad is blaming my mom for this church discipline stuff, and my mom is not taking it this time. I do not expect my dad to change, and I expect church discipline to come down hard on him. They already are coming down hard, and I am impressed that their pastor apologized for not taking these steps sooner. Now if only my dad won’t talk his way out of this. He’s one messed up guy, and I hope Jesus will be able to break through and show him his works will not save him, nor will his words, or legalistic beliefs.

I have gone from the deep lows of yesterday, to giddy heights today. I am unsure what to expect from my dad, but I hoping against hope that my siblings will get the care they need, and that my dad will be separated from them. In the mean time though, I will be taking my mom out to a bar, or maybe a spa, and giving her a break from the crappy mess my dad makes for her. I am disgusted that he still has the audacity to blame her for his faults. Let justice be served, Jesus!!!!

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


Where is my Defender?

Psalm 68:5 – father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.

Being the oldest of  large family has placed a heavy weight on my shoulders. I have never felt that weight more strongly than when one of my siblings, or multiple siblings, are in any sort of danger. As more of my siblings made their appearances while I grew up, the heavier the weight became, until one day I was faced with the stark realization that I had missed my childhood.  I was never a carefree, happy little girl, kicking up her heels in the sun, and running through fields of wild flowers.  I had to be the perfect example for my siblings, and I needed to be in charge so they didn’t make daddy angry, or make mom upset.

I was my siblings’ parent.

I was their defender, their warrior.

I protected them.

But no one protected me.

No one told me that I wasn’t supposed to be mother, father, protector, or defender to my siblings. No one told me that it wasn’t normal to be very mature for my young age, or that I raised my siblings while my mom dealt with the youngest children. This was normal for me, and this is how I grew up. I know it’s not good to have had so much responsibility for my siblings, but I can’t give back what has already been placed on me. I do not regret having had so much responsibility, for it taught me to love much, and it gave me the strength to handle big situations. It has made living marriage that much easier when it comes to budgeting and keeping meals on the table.  I am good at what I do because I have done it all of my life. I know how to cook good, healthy, hardy meals.

I know how to stand up for and defend my friends, my siblings, my husband. I know to become the mama bear when someone mistreats anyone close to me. I know because I have been doing that all of my life.

I have a heavy weight when it comes to my siblings, and I would fight to the ends of the earth to keep them from being damaged any further by the man who is their dad. I fear for them because of how hard it has been for me to break free from my dad’s influence over my faith, my life, and my health. I have taken the brunt of my dad’s influence, but I couldn’t always protect my siblings from being grabbed and dragged to sit in the bathroom when they disobeyed. Nor could I protect my sister from being dragged by her hair half way up the stairs because she talked nasty to me. I have alternately felt like a failure when it comes to my siblings, and feeling helpless and angry at the injustice they have endured.

Even though I am married, and no longer see any of my siblings on a regular basis, I still go through spurts where I feel like the weight has grown. It is heavy and frustrating when none of my other siblings seem to take me seriously, or believe me when I get upset over their plight. Am I seeing things? Am I being too emotional and making things up? I feel alone sometimes in bearing this weight. My heart breaks for my siblings, and I pray that they will one day be able to heal from my dad’s abuse.

I am once again contacting the pastors in charge of my family, and begging, challenging them to heed my siblings’ pain. I am weary of bringing my issues forward and not feeling like anyone is paying attention to me. I will not give up on my siblings, but I do get close to doing so many times.

Wearily,

Chryssie Rose


The Classic Knee-jerk

I am in a vicious mood tonight, and I believe it is a classic knee-jerk reaction to allowing my mind to accept and revisit pains in my past. My husband and I visited a place today where I have many, many bad memories. Even though this place holds a lot of bad memories, there are also some good ones, and I seriously hadn’t thought about the bad memories at all recently. It helped greatly that my dad was not there, nor were the rest of my family. There was nothing reminding me of those difficult memories, or so I thought.

Events soon followed that brought back everything. And I discovered that I was willing to feel, and feel hard the old bitterness and anger that I first felt when wounded. Memories of past words, comments, manipulations, unhelpful advice, and sad memories were actually felt for the first time today, and it has left me viciously angry and zealous for the well being of myself and a few close friends.

All it really took for me to make the transition from the peaceful, at ease, and comfortable me that I was this morning, to the spitting-nails, boiling frustrated me of this evening, was laying eyes on the one person I realized I have a boat load of serious issues with. As the time got closer to meet up with her, for I hadn’t seen her in a very long time, my hubby and I started wandering around, my thoughts being that maybe I’d run into her. I suddenly saw her, and a shock wave rolled over me. A very vivid memory of being in the same position hit me, and I remembered why I had simply walked away the last time.

[….I have, in a blind rage, stood by and watched this woman tear down one of my closest friends, and scorn her because of a guy. I have had her try to manipulate me into believing that separating from a very bad family situation wasn’t in God’s will, and that I should stay home where I belonged. I have been blatantly ignored while she, and other friends, made plans to go out together, all while I stood or sat there next to her, without being included. I have, on multiple occasions, tried my best to confront her for the offenses I saw, and was shut down before I could get the words fully out. I have been shut out of her life when I bring up concerns, and welcomed warmly when I agree with everything she says. She has discouraged me from believing in a scripture that brought me great hope, instead told me not to get my hopes up that I would ever be healed….]

I finally caught up with her, and my hubsand and I sat down to chat for a few minutes, but I found my mouth glued shut, and only brief answers were allowed past my tightly closed lips. I was inwardly surprised at how simply being in her presence shut me down. Just like that, I was quiet, I felt like I had to defend every thing I said, and was getting riled up at every little nuance of something she said, did, or reacted to. I sat there quietly, inwardly, grappling with my anger and frustration, and felt so unsure of why she was setting me off. Then it hit me. I had never been able to accept that she had hurt me, that she had hurt my friends, and that now I was watching her scorn another friend of mine. I purposefully forgot what she had done so I could keep the friendship, although shaky, that I had with her on a level plane, and that is no longer acceptable to me. I cannot heal from the hurt, anger, and frustration I have felt unless I can accept that she hurt me, and I can move on.

For all of the years that I was under my dad’s influence, and in an unstable emotional environment, it will most likely take just as long for me to relax, and not react, in a stable emotional environment.  Being married to a man who is very stable emotionally, and is willing to chill when I am blowing up, makes a world of difference in how I am reacting now. I am learning to recognize the people who I can’t be around without being reminded of my dad and reacting emotionally to normal things that should not affect me. I cannot be around people who scorn those who don’t agree with them, or call them out on their issues. I cannot be near those who shun family members for choosing to break from from ancient family chains, and who make you feel like you are worth next to nothing when they question your opinions. I cannot be around those who are loving, caring, happy, and accepting one minute, and then the next around cold, rude, and patronizing. I need real people with real feelings who, no matter how ugly or good, will freely share those feelings.  I will not willingly stand by any longer, and watch my friends get treated like crap. If a  family treats one of their children like they are dead to them simply because of differing opinions, then shame on them.  Situations like mine with my dad, and others of my friends, make me very grateful for the band of friends I am forming who are willing to stand by me, and constantly remind me of what is NORMAL, and what is not.

So here’s to all of the fellow Black Sheep out there. I toast to our health, our peace of mind, heart, and body, and to the love that only true friends can give.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


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