Wouldn’t healing be easier if I believed all my memories at once?
I’d struggle less if I didn’t hold some memories in the case of disbelief. I don’t want to believe they’re true, so I’ll just tuck them away in the cabinet of denial.
That works for a little while.
Then the memory leaks through – again, determined to find me. I try and shut the door tighter to keep it hidden away but I’ve given myself power now and another piece is destined to be seen.
Do I fear the memory itself or do I fear the grief associated with another terrifying act of betrayal?
And what about my anger at God for allowing this, again? He stood by while these acts were being played out against me. Just watching. He did nothing.
I have found myself screaming into the heavens, “Why? You were right there? Why didn’t you do anything? You were watching while it happened?
Why did you allow it?
Grief is an ugly beast of burden.
My screams to God are my expression to Him for all the violations, all the acts of secret done whilst nobody was watching. My faith is strong enough to bring my burdens to Him. The Creator and Maker of all good things.
“Take this,” I cry. “Take this before it consumes me.”
God was watching. He saw it all. They got away with nothing. My grief relieved now by leaving it at the throne of God.
I will carry on.
Healing is work. Denial is even more work. I’ll stay in the trenches of uncovering the bones that rattle as they need it. If I leave the bones undisturbed, I fear I’d join them – in their graves of death and despair.
I will carry on with great counseling sessions, good books exploring healing and lean on the people who love me. This is what resolves the residual effects of abuse and weakens the string of grief.
Not that I have arrived, but I press on towards the goal.