Many times I have shed old skin to embrace a newer, tighter and stronger exterior. Lately, I have been on a journey physically but more quietly internally. I do most of my intense and painful recollection late at night, which makes it easier for me. When I write late at night and finally have the courage to post something, I know that most people will be sleeping. The likelihood for my emotional tearing touching someone else will be limited and maybe those who will feel its slight wisp will be those who God deems worthy enough of needing it. With that said....
I have already (twice) shared my testimony with my church and at a conference. Even though I was able to put my story out in the judgmental air, I have always carried a sense of shame. "If more people know, more people will judge." "I will be labeled" "What will my family think?" Recently, feelings and voices have risen and my shame has grown. I kept questioning myself. "Why am I feeling so much shame when God has released me from it?" Once God lifts your burdens from you, there is absolutely NO reason to take them back. Why would you? Yet, here I am, playing tug of war with God and on the rope is my burden and shame. I sat down to dabble on here with no intention of allowing myself this release. I dug my heels in the mud, sat back in my strength, and pulled on that rope with all my might. I won. I believed I had won, but when I looked down at that rope thinking I had pulled back my burden and shame I saw different. In my lap was courage. God allowed me to believe that I had won because I was stronger than Him when in reality He threw courage in my face and in the way that He and I communicate said, "Now deal with that."
So here I am. Dealing. The truth is for a very long time I was a very broken girl. There is no one way to describe how I became broken. Maybe it started like little cracks, the way they do on a vase or piece of glass. Maybe it was a large chunk taken out at once. Whatever method it took, I broke. When I met my husband I was duct taped together in this whole DIY manner that I had deemed fit, but I was in no way "fixed." Too many opened and closed fists to my back or pulled hair by my father. Too many times being blamed by my brother for beatings. Too many nights listening to my parents spit fire words at each other in an effort to figure out who was to blame. Too many self-inflicted responsibilities. Too many years playing the victim with out realizing that I was actually in the process of surviving. These all took a toll on my little soul the way stepping on one spot too much eventually wears away to reveal an empty spot. Then at 12 years old my world turned upside down. My father began to molest me.
There is no way to slide into that fact. It happened. The act is over, but the recovery is continual. As a woman, 16 years after the first time, I've carried shame over the broken girl who was hurt by every man in her life. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see that girl. My eyes still hold the pain that I've fooled myself into believing only I can see. I give in and I let myself get consumed with the pain because I feel I deserve it. The truth is: I don't. Yes. It is true. To this day every man in my life (even my husband) has hurt me. I've been cut deep by a knife that seems to get passed around. But who hasn't? I am not unique in my pain and I am also not unique in my triumph. I am not a victim, I am a survivor. I survive every day that I continue to love my husband past his mistakes and he love me past mine. I survive when I see my father and hug him with God's love. The father daughter relationship is gone. But, I found my true Father. God has shown me His love. I will never be able to understand how a father (of flesh) can do what my father did to me, but I don't need to because I DO know how my Father in heaven can do more for me. I can say with out an ounce of doubt or lack of faith that with out God, I would have died. My spirit would have remained a withered existence and I would have fallen.
There is so much more to this story. So much more to me. But for that little girl inside of me who cries out of shame.....don't you cry no more.
Click the link below to watch my testimony.
Cardboard Testimony
