Depression is a serious matter. Once in awhile, my tears remind me that I’m not here for my purpose, but for God’s. Yet, my mind is a battlefield of mines. I’m trying to not step on them. “You’re worthless. You’re just another knot on his belt…another accomplishment.” The evidence for this? None. These are the consequences from my past experiences. Now, with a fussy baby in my arms, I cry. We cry over different reasons, but we cry.
Crying can be healing. I was never one to really cope with my emotions, or to come to terms with them. Stuffing them away seemed to work in the moment, until, they would surface in another situation – another stage of life even. It could be the next day or ten years later when all of the feelings I’ve been stuffing down inside of me as a little girl would surface to the top in my thirties.
There are many men who hurt me in my life. Men who were dear friends, neighbors, and family. Verbally, and sometimes physically. Unfortunately, there are too many people in this situation. Too many stories I have heard about girls being abused, molested, and taken advantage of, that their self worth is only as good as a man sees her to be. I’m not here to point a finger, but there is some sort of problem in our society when women can create a movement, a #metoo movement, that shows just how many voices have been stuffed away like mine.
That’s what happens when you see the people in your life withdraw into a silence that is so strong, that it’s chilling. I hid behind being called a strong and silent Christian, but my reasons for being strong and silent are surrounded by voices of shame and criticism. I’m learning to find my voice again, but it hasn’t been easy. It’s taken years for me to understand what impact I have in this life. I feel like I’m speaking for all women who are suffering under the weight of their emotions in some way. My experience may be different, but it’s not unique. Ironically, being vulnerable terrifies me. Like Brené Brown said, it takes courage to be vulnerable.
So, here’s a little bit of my story that I’m sharing.
* Poem *
Little did he know, the same girl he talked bad about her mom to would grow up blaming herself for her mom’s mistakes. She only heard one side of the story – and not her mom’s.
Although I have an amazing husband, the interactions we have to this day sometimes bring up the old hurts of the past. Sure, I want to be a good wife, but at the cost of his corruption? Then I am no better than those who killed Jesus. I need the help of the Holy Spirit to catch my tongue so I don’t rip it – again. This is what I like about Christianity, is that we have a God who loves us enough to give us the Holy Spirit, which gives power. I digress.
When babies are born, we think, “ohhh, how cute! They are so innocent!” And as they get older, we think that they become more stained by the world and its’ corruptions. But, I was practically dead inside by the time I was 3 years old, which started to cost me friendships at 12 years old and anxiety and panic attacks when I was 18. It wasn’t until I was 24 years old when I screamed out, hoping someone would hear me – because I was alone – that I just wanted to feel again. That’s a glimpse of what it looks like when over 20 years of emotional baggage comes surfacing to the top.
Time is a gift, and it’s exactly what helps me to cope with scars of the past. Yet, it’s those scars that turn into healing for others.