A diary excerpt....
Because my children are only going to do as good as I do. Because although my SON may follow behind his father, my DAUGHTERS will see that I have strived to make the legacy stop with me. Even on my worst days, they may see that I’m a little down, but they never see the worst of it. Only one or two people to whom I have entrusted my heart get to see that side. Why? Because I never want these little women to see hope die. I want them to know in their souls that not only will God bring you through the struggle, but he will continue to make beautiful things of your life if you let him.
Standing in the parking lot last night, crying into my hands after I had confessed to a friend that even though the evil one has been gone for so long, I hate that I still feel so wounded, unhealthy and unworthy. When this person wrapped their loving arms around me and kissed my forehead and said, “Don’t you know that you are none of those things? Do you know that?” I sobbed as I had to confess that deep down, no, I don’t know that. Not all of the time, anyways.
It saddens me that so many years after suffering the abuse that I am still such a mess. That I still have such a snap temper because I’ve been conditioned to sense the first shift in body language or tone in voice so that I can react to it in order to protect myself and my kids. That I have such a deep root of rejection that it’s hard for me to differentiate between someone being busy and not having much time vs. them not wanting me. It’s shameful to me and it’s humbling.
But I keep on keeping on. Why? Because I have hope. Hope in the healing that God is faithful to work in me. Hope in a love that will indeed eventually convince me that I am beautiful…and worthy. Hope that with every word of truth that is spoken against the demons of domestic violence, that it’s curse will lessen, even if just a little bit. And hope that someday, somehow I will be able to affect the hearts of the women of this world to know that not only do they not have to endure the violence, but that even if they do find themselves in a situation like that, they are NOT that violence. They may be IN the violence, but they are NOT the ugliness and dis-ease that is being perpetrated against them. They do not have to embody that shame and carry it in their skin for the rest of their lives as I and so many other women struggle with.
Someday I hope I can get that message out to all of them. For now I need to start in my home. I need to start with the three little women that God has entrusted to me. And after an enlightening parking lot conversation, it looks like I still need to start with myself.