I Would Take Her to a Safe Place and Tell Her Truths

I had a therapy appointment today. I love my therapist, which I have mentioned before. I love having a therapist- a good one.

Something interesting and a little shocking happened yesterday. I haven't really spoken much about my marriage here, as it's not the place. And yet, today, it's the place.

My marriage was traumatic. Yes. My poor brain and heart and soul experience much trauma while in that marriage. While I was in it, I all the time made excuses for my husband's behavior.

Yesterday, I had reason to go to the very apartment complex my ex and I lived in for over half of our marriage till the end of it. The same building, even. Just a few doors down. I haven't really needed to be in that area of town since my ex and his girlfriend moved out of our apartment (they'd moved in shortly after I'd moved out) after our divorce. That's been 7 years now. So, as I turned onto the street of the apartment complex, the flashbacks blindsided me. Sudden, abrupt, simultaneous memories came at my face like fiery arrows in a battle in which I was the only one on my side. Surprised, my body even reacted, and I took in a sharp breath, tightened my body, and thrust my head to the headrest as if to back away from the attacks.

There's the park where I would take my baby in the middle of the night to get away from my husband after he'd been yelling at me or the baby over something. And suddenly, I was there, in the cold, sitting on the swing and sobbing, and hoping against hope that he would wonder where I'd gone, and come find me. Hoping against hope that he would find me and say, "oh, baby, I'm so sorry for saying those mean things. I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Please come home." Hoping against hope that I wasn't the person he treated me as. I would sit there with my baby, crying and thinking my husband was maybe wrong for screaming those poison words at me- at her, even- but also knowing that it would be I who would apologize. I used to escape to that park frequently when I felt afraid or betrayed by my husband and couldn't talk to him about it (because he yelled more when I did and turned it around on me, every time).

There's the little softball field where he screamed at me in front of his work friends, in front of his girlfriend, in front of our kids. And suddenly, I was there, unable to hold back the tears in front of his softball teammates as the kids and I cried and walked back home. Suddenly, I felt it all again.

Here's where I slid on the ice and spun into a parked car. And suddenly, I was in the living room, telling him what had happened, and he was yelling before even asking if the kids and I were okay.

There's the apartment. Okay, too many horrible memories to even list that happened in that 2 bedroom itty bitty space. But dozens of them flew at me last night. It was suffocating.

I was surprised. I didn't expect that to happen, at all. I thought I was over it! I thought I was over all the marital strife, over him, over the hell of being his wife that ended 7.5 years ago. I was so annoyed that the memories would affect me that way. I cried and cried on the drive home, and I was annoyed about that, too. Why? Why should it still hurt? I don't live there anymore. I don't love him anymore. I don't want him to be a good husband to me anymore.

I explained it all to my therapist and she explained trauma to me. She told me I was having flashbacks, and said that it indicated that I was in a healthy place.

Wait, what?

Apparently, feeling and acknowledging pain is healthy. OH YEAH! Marsha thrives when I don't acknowledge pain, after all.

So, we talked more about trauma, and what happens to our neurons during certain experiences which makes those experiences traumatic, and we talked more about pain. And I began to understand.

I'm still going to explore this more. I want to understand why God made us humans this way. I want to know what is the purpose in making our brains so that they experience trauma, and pain of an event or events years after they occurred. Because, He did that on purpose. He made our brains work that way for a reason, and I want to find the spiritual reason behind my trauma, and my pain.

I said, "But if I get my finger burned 7 years ago in a park at night, it wouldn't still hurt." and she said, "But, if someone held an iron to your skin and it burned through all the layers of your skin, through all your nerves, your skin might heal, but you'd have scars and nerve damage for maybe the rest of your life. And would you say to someone with that kind of wound, 'you shouldn't still feel that?'"

Well, no. Oh.

Then she suggested we visit those swings. What were my thoughts on those swings? What were the lies that I were believing as truths while I sat on the swing at the park at midnight? What were the lies my husband was telling me by his behavior toward me? I gave her a list.

• I'm not good enough
• Not a good enough mom
• Not a good enough wife
• A burden on my husband
• Stuck with my husband because I chose him
• Not worth an apology
• Not worth respect
• Worthless
• Not worth being heard

That's a portion of the list. And do you know what she did? She said, "What would you do if someone told your daughter, 'You're not good enough. You're nothing but a burden. You're not worth apologizing to. I'm stuck with you now, so you have to do all the things I want.  You're worthless.'?" Well, I instantly became furious at the very idea of someone telling my sweet daughter those awful lies. I was angry beyond description at the hypothetical loser telling my daughter those horrible things. I told her, with tearful eyes, "I would be so angry at whoever would tell my child that. And I would take my daughter to a safe place and tell her truths."

How I would so desperately try to undo the lies she'd been told! How I would enfold her and guide her to a safe and quiet room, and tell the truths about her, and tell her that the things she was told were not about her at all, but about the person saying them. 

And my therapist repeated softly, "I would take her to a safe place and tell her truths." And it hit me then that there were truths -- are truths -- to my ex's lies. And not only was he simply wrong, but the very opposite were truths! I was worth respect. I was worth an apology! I was not a burden on my husband, but a blessing to him. Not worthless; priceless. 

What if I'd known then? What if I could go to the me on the swings in the night and tell her truths? Is my worth any less than the worth of my daughter? Does God love me any less than I love my daughter? Impossible. He is God. I am mortal and have a finite vision. And you know what? I can take my own self to a safe place, and listen to Him tell me truths. And He will. He will because I am His daughter, and He created me to have pain and trauma, so He knows about my pain and trauma, and He can heal me. He wants to. He wants to heal me with His truths- the truths about me.

Now, as addicts, we tend to easily believe the lies. We believe we're not worth it. I mean, we really, legitimately believe that, don't we? We believe it so much that we know it to be true! Most especially in our most active times of indulging in our addictions. And our addictions, and our ease in "allowing" them, reinforce what we think we know to be true. In our darkest addicted points, we can see no other possibility of truth, can we? Just like when I look back to the me-on-the-swings, I remember that I just couldn't have even begun to believe that it was my husband who was wrong, not me. I couldn't have begun to believe that I had worth in that marriage or worth at all. 

I think we could all benefit, friends, from going to our me-on-the-swings (and don't we all have one?), and leading her or him to a safe place, and telling her or him truths. Telling her or him the truths that God tells us. As addicts, most (all, I think) of us have several moments in our pasts with people who were supposed to love us, who maybe even did love us, but who taught us and reinforced to us that we are worthless. 

It was a lie. It is a lie created by Satan. Don't you believe it! Oh, go back to your swing-self and tell him or her right there that it is a lie! And that you don't have to believe it anymore. Go back to those times and give yourself permission to identify those things as lies, and then also tell yourself the truths. We wouldn't be addicts if we weren't running from stuff and hiding. Turns out the things we run from are all lies. "I can't do that." lie. "It's too hard." lie. "I'm worthless." lie. "God doesn't care about me." lie. "No one cares about me." lie. "I can't do anything right." "I am a horrible person." "I don't deserve to live." "What's the point? I'm not good enough." Lies, lies, lies! "I can't do this by myself." Well, that's true, but not in the way we tell it to ourselves.

How interesting that addiction is all based on lies. I think that's true. My addiction is fed by and sustained by lies. If I believed the truths all the time, I would be free all the time. 

John 8:32-- And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. 

Like Mother, Like Son; Like Father, Like Daughter

First things first, I got my temple recommend back yesterday!!! I'm soo happy. I'm going tomorrow! It's been three long months.

And now, the real reason for my post. I've written about my son before. Both of my children are so wonderful and teach me daily, and I usually feel like the luckiest mom in the world to have them in my life, as my children. I used to think that my daughter was exactly like me- bright, creative, imaginative, happy, enthusiastic, bossy, emotional, controlling, and, oh yeah, hilarious- and that my son was nothing like me. I am laid back and adaptable; he needs structure and fears change. I am scattered; he is precise. I am slow to anger; he is quick to anger. I don't really care about details; he notices everything. I used to imagine that angels in heaven would draw a mom card and a baby card, and if the two matched, they would send that baby to that mom. If they didn't match, they would find a different baby. I imagined that the angels chose my card and my son's card, and they laughed and laughed and laughed and one of them said, "let's do it anyway," and they laughed and laughed some more, because the two of us are NOT A MATCH. 

My sweet boy is 8, now, and as delightful as ever. I have always loved his guilelessness, his willingness to forgive, his desire to share. While I believed for years that we are opposites, I have always been very grateful to be his mother. He and my daughter bring me joy untold! However, I have realized that my son is exactly like me.

No, he is not an addict. But he has poor impulse control as a result of mild autism, and of circumstances that have never been in his control. For someone needing structure and predictability, this poor kid's life has been turned upside down more than any child deserves. The divorce was so hard on him, and the constant back-and-forth between homes continues to be very hard on him, even 6 years later. He really does have a rough life in many ways, and I usually fail to give him credit for that. He is different from me, and he's so different from most other kids. He is intelligent and has an exceptional memory. He doesn't like to do sports or even so much play with other kids. His vocabulary is bigger than many 8th graders', and he uses much different terminology than his peers. Often, he flaps his hands when other kids would laugh. At school, he was bullied due to his differences, and that broke my heart. One of the huge reasons I chose to homeschool was to protect my son from those bullies (both students and teachers). I thought he'd be loving life doing school at home, and that he'd change. But, the truth is, he still struggles-- not with the academics, but with just doing what he's supposed to do.

While I'm definitely not grateful for my addiction, I'm very grateful for the lessons I have learned and am learning through recovery. Especially in relation to parenting.

This morning started off pretty rough. Firstly, I am PMS-ing, which sometimes means that I have an unusually short fuse. So when my sweet son began his "I'm not doing school!" tirade this morning, I only tried being nice and reasonable for a short time before his continued outbursts set me off. I reacted poorly, and I yelled at my sweet 8-year-old son. He retreated into himself, and I had solved nothing. I had only made things worse. Still angry, but knowing I needed to calm down before I spoke another ill word to my boy, I sequestered myself to my bedroom and knelt, asking God to forgive me for treating His little child so poorly. Then I asked for help. "How do I reach my son?" I asked Him. "This happens almost every day. How do I reach him in a way that will inspire him to just do what he needs to do?"

And do you know what? Even after I had hardened my heart (toward a little child!), God answered my prayer with a thought: "How do I reach you?" 

So I thought a moment. I thought about why I was angry. I was angry because I felt like a failure. I felt like if I was a good mom, he'd want to do his school. If I was a good mom, he wouldn't yell at me and refuse to do simple things I asked him to do. I was upset because I knew if he just did what I asked, he'd be happier, and successful, and the whole family would be happier. I was angry essentially because he wasn't being obedient. How does Father treat me when I'm not being obedient? I thought about all my years of active addiction. I thought about His responses. I thought about how He made me feel in those times of failure to obey.

Does my Father yell at me in frustration and anger? No, but He is patient, kind, long-suffering. He doesn't remind me of all the ways I am failing; He brings to my mind the things I am still doing right. When I slip, He doesn't give up. When I was "slipping" weekly, and even daily, He did not give up on me. 

And that's what I needed from my Father. I needed patience. I needed love and encouragement. I needed forgiveness. And that's what my son needed from me right now. He's just like me. 

So I called him into my bedroom and asked him a few questions. I told him that he's just like me. I told him I know it's hard to do the things that are right sometimes. I told him that when I don't obey Heavenly Father, I feel miserable. I asked him how he felt in that moment, and I asked him how he felt the other day when he did three days worth of school, which was above and beyond what I'd required him to do. I asked him to compare those two feelings. 

How can I judge my son who struggles with obedience when I struggle with the same thing? How can I even get angry with him when it took me years to finally turn honestly to God? 

I told my sweet boy I love him. I told him I was sorry for yelling. I sang him "our song" and we both wept. It's a perfect song for how I feel about him:

I don't mind your odd behavior

It's the very thing I savor

If you were an ice cream flavor

You would be my favorite one

Oh, I've loved you from the start

In every single way

And more each passing day

You are brighter than the stars

Believe me when I say

It's not about your scars.

It's all about your heart.

And afterward, he hugged me, got up and said, "I'm going to go do school. Love you, Mom." 

After he left my room, I got back on my knees to thank my Father for teaching me how to be a parent, and for giving me, personally, the most merciful and loving example. I thought, "I wonder if I'll have to do this every morning to inspire my son to do school and/or chores, or whatever it is?" And then the answer, "God would do it for me. If I need to, I will have a one on one with my son every morning." And maybe he still won't be inspired. Maybe he'll still choose to fume in his bedroom. Just like Heavenly Father can't make me do what's right, I can't make my son do what's right. But I know one thing. I will never, ever give up on him.