Trauma Healing
-
If you don’t like my story…
If you didn’t want me telling my story, maybe you shouldn’t have written that chapter.
If you wanted me to make you look good, maybe you should have been a good person.
I have the right to share my story, just as you can share yours. I own my story, just as you own yours.
Maybe you should be more intentional when intersecting with someone else’s story.
Maybe you should remember that your actions toward someone become part of the story they own and get to tell whenever, however and to whomever they like.
When you enter someone’s story, you leave a mark, like a square stitched into their quilt. It might be a dark square, or a bright cheery one, but once it is stitched in, it is theirs now.
You don’t get to be the editor in someone else’s story.
If you didn’t want me telling my story, maybe you shouldn’t have contributed content you didn’t want published.
If you don’t like my story, maybe you shouldn’t have helped write it, but I won’t hide it for your sake. I won’t keep quiet. My story is mine to tell.
-
A Hero’s Story Arc
Night wrapped itself around me like suffocating cellophane
My truth poking holes in the dark sky like stars
Pinpricks of light invaded, eclipsed my pain
Hope slipped between prison barsPromised love but disgusting corruption
illuminated by black light was a rude interruption
My true self stolen, they locked her away
Irretrievable innocence the price I paidHaunted by ghost whispers,
echoes in the hollow
Hearing voices, “you’ll never miss her”
A bitter pill to swallowI once was a shiny toy wrapped up so pretty,
Admired if I stayed on the shelf
Found out too late integrity isn’t piety
Character doesn’t save you in the Bible BeltSparkly bow pulled around my throat so tight
Purchased with blood and a tithe
Painted face bruised on the other cheek
Pink collectors box, 6 feet deepMy only salvation living in reveries
My family of Christ set up as enemies
This can’t be the best life there is
Surely, there must be more than thisA chain link fence of holy Red Rover
“You’ll never break through” they repeatedly told her
“It’s no use, you might as well stay.”
But I only listened when they taught me faithEmboldened, but internal alarms rang loud
To leave I must run at what I fear
I break my body against the crowd
Air knocked out, but I’m scrambling for the clearFlashes of light, head is spinning
high-pitched buzzing, but I think I’m winning
Shreds of my flesh still hanging from their claws
But I’m breathing clean air, allowed my own thoughtsHead on a swivel, is it really safe?
The other side is a heavenly place
From a distance I watch them spin out of control
Lashing out at their pawns with pure vitriolExploding from sick and pitiful rage
no idea what to do with an empty cage
Lost their hold on relevance and power
Screaming because they’re not my ivory tower“This isn’t who you have to be
I can share what I know and help you leave
But your empty soul feels important as the villain
And it doesn’t matter what you do if you’re going to heavenSaved and with God on your side, there’s no reason to be kind
Morality customized to your theology and the most convenient design
You’ll stay inside I know, it’s a power trip
Deadly addicting high, but you can’t let go of it”I sigh, turn my gaze and shut the door
There’s a big world out there for prophets like me
Who have always been called to something more
It’s time to enjoy being freeMy past is defined but never my future
Self-Doubt looks back, but I refuse her
“You had your time, but in the end, I left my mark
All you gave me was a Hero’s Story Arc” -
The Long Road Home
What if home is somewhere I’ve never been? Will I recognize it when I arrive?
What if home is feeling safe? Will I know what that’s like?
What if home is down a long and dusty road? Can I make it that far?
Some people are born home, others find it. Some leave home, others have it taken from them. A few of us nomads aren’t sure if we can even define it.
I can’t go back, to the past, it was full of fear. I long to move forward, at last, but I’m stuck here.
I was born different; a visitor in a foreign land. But I imagine home is a place to rest, not obligated to impress.
I believe home is acceptance, valued as we are. Not appeasing the masses to keep our image unmarred.
Home is healing, patching up our wounds. Home is freeing, not indebted to who hates you.
I thought I had a home – raised in a kind family. But our lives were tied up in cruel religiosity.
Ugly ducklings are bullied to blend in, the scapegoat is sent far away. The black sheep ostracized; some of us are deemed unworthy by holy pious eyes.
My parents did the best they could, while ruled by reverence and a call to obey. Their love was chained to “can’ts” and “shoulds”, governed like vulnerable prey.
I grew up and thought I found a place to belong – their faith was “progressive”, their tenets impressive, but ultimately they let me down.
Acceptance, but with a limit. And only the right kind of empowerment
Favoritism and cliques – I’ve never been the golden child. Promises for misfits – but they didn’t follow through after a while.
I never really found a home, so I created my own; building a life my daughter won’t have to heal from.
I made a beautiful family, surrounded myself with a haven of love. I am happy, but my healing isn’t done.
Shedding shame of being broken and bad, shunning lies from the community I never had.
Releasing anxiety from anticipating my rejection, managing anger at evil and corruption.
Fleeing the fear of horrors and hellfire, after years of earning my keep…I’m tired.
I see this journey will last all my life, but I’m starting to feeling whole again. It’s brighter on the horizon now… Each day somewhere I’ve never been.
Follow that light and those good feelings and you won’t lose your way. Trust yourself, listen to your needs, and you’ll be okay.
Don’t worry, I know its true – the pilgrimage won’t fail you.
Healing is the long road home.
-
Black Sheep
ME: “I’m the Black Sheep of my family and the community they raised me in. I’ve always been demonized as a strong-willed child and a rebel.”
THERAPIST: “Why do you think that is?”
ME: “I’ve just always been different. I’ve never been able to be what they want. They told me I’m bad when I tried so hard to be good. Looking back I can see now it’s a strong sense of justice that makes me seem angry to some people. Also for as long as I can remember I’ve had a driving urge to find the truth. I could never blindly obey or accept easy answers that didn’t make sense. That’s put me at odds with my upbringing. My search for truth has taken me places I wasn’t allowed to go, and my intentions have been consistently questioned and misinterpreted.”
THERAPIST: “That sounds incredibly difficult. How do you think your life would be different if you weren’t the black sheep?”
ME: “I think I would believe in myself more. I wouldn’t constantly question myself or wrestle with a gnawing doubt in my own goodness. So many people have tried to convince me I’m crazy. Why?!”
THERAPIST: “Maybe they are trying to convince themselves you are crazy. Because if you’re crazy, they don’t have to listen to you. I’ve noticed a pattern in your life where people try to take away your voice. Not in obvious ways, that would be easier to deal with. But in manipulative under-the-surface ways, even trying to tell you that what they’re doing is best for you.”
ME: “I know! It happens over and over. Why is it always me? I’m the common denominator. Is something wrong with me?”
THERAPIST: “No. You’re a Truth-Teller. People don’t like that. It makes them uncomfortable. The Black Sheep of the family is almost always the Truth-Teller.”
-
Good Christian Girl
Two decades of stained glass and steeples, pastors and preachers but never a therapist. Surrounded by Bibles and hymnals; prayer requests welcome, but never a “negative” emotion.
A Good Christian girl counts her blessings and remembers God has a plan. She always practices etiquette and good manners; she only says nice things, she’s never a downer.
Christian mothers wagged their fingers at my furrowed brow, “You really would look so much prettier if you smiled more”.
Sunday School classes centered on seeking the joy of the Lord, having a good attitude and never complaining. Questions were allowed if they had “easy” answers; anything else was backsliding. A Good Christian Girl doesn’t rock the boat.
“You’ll feel better if you look on the bright side.” “You should volunteer, you’ll see others have it much worse than you.” “Follow God and you’ll be blessed.” “Everything happens for a reason” “God works in mysterious ways.”
Church leaders promised if I trusted God I would be okay. After all, I was a Good Christian Girl and God was on my side. So I trusted and prayed, volunteered and obeyed, but the truth is, their promises turned up empty.
With a cheery face and a scream trapped in my lungs, I was drowning. For far too long I was silenced with a smile.
Living in a box too small for me, there comes a breaking point. So much was stolen from me in the name of Goodness, but I’m surviving and finding my strength.
Now on the other side, I don’t need to find a silver lining. I’ve been learning a few lessons of my own. My innocence, my health, my happiness weren’t obstacles to my virtue. Suffering isn’t always refining.
There doesn’t have to be a greater purpose to a loved one’s death, or abuse, or a diagnosis. Hardships don’t have to be lessons and trials aren’t signs I need my faith tested.
Not everything is worked out for my good. I wonder where I would be if trauma hadn’t held me down? Sometimes evil injustice wins, and it’s not because of my hidden sins.
I don’t have to be okay with it and I don’t have to get over it. I don’t have to believe this was all part of the plan. I can be angry, I can doubt, I can wrestle. And it’s not a crisis of faith.
Now I let my experiences shape my beliefs and not the other way around. There is no magic wand waving in the sky. I choose to trust myself.
Gone are the days of silent submission, fake smiles and shallow answers, and to hell with linear religious narratives!
I’ve found love in all the wrong places,and encountered peace where it wasn’t supposed to be.
I’ve discovered a sense of purpose in what I was told would be meaningless,experienced joy in situations I was warned would bring pain.
Healing has come from the very things I was taught would damage me, I even felt the safest from decisions that were supposedly dangerous.
The truth I was looking for turned out to be unorthodox and the saints I’ve met have all been sinners.
I’ve encountered God among the ungodly and I have come face to face with goodness in perhaps the most surprising of places – I have found it in myself.
Now I really have to wonder – what exactly did they try so hard to keep me from?
I’m learning to find my voice again and the more I unravel the indoctrination, the more sacredness I find.
Sometimes when I let myself sit in the darkness, I see the Light inside of me and I realize that maybe God is more like me than I was taught…
Maybe She is angry too.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
This is a version of a piece I wrote for the deconstruction magazine Hyssop & Laurel. For those of you who have been following for a while, you might recognize it as a reimagination of two of my past works “Silenced with a Smile” and “Finding Love in all the Wrong Places”. It also includes brand new content. This piece I’m sharing now is very similar to my published version, with a few edits.
This writing was an attempt at describing my mental health journey while living through religion and coming out the other side. There is a lot of darkness, but also so much light and healing to be found.