When I shared my story through the eyes of my abusers, my story didn’t add up. I was living a real puzzle. My story buried under the ruble of denial, it had become just a myth.
Without the truth beside me, I stayed in bad relationships. With missing pieces of who I was I stayed with my abusers waiting for their love.
When I took the hard journey onto the tight wire that hung over my disparity, I started finding myself again. The lies that had encased me were falling down and I could see my own skin.
It was a living puzzle fitting together the pieces of the distortions I was given by the story makers. You know who the story makers are, right? The ones that abuse. They start crafting their lies far before they abuse you. They entangle you into their webs and create a mythical place for you to visit with them.
Tearing down the fabrication of all that deceit has never been easy. In fact, it was a pinnacle that held me away from healing.
My mother held contempt for me as a child, but as I grew and could condemn her with my story, she stayed closer to me than she ever had. But, it never felt right.
My father was so sure in his mythical illusions, I fear he believed them himself — for a time. He was the master of his kingdoms, until it all fell down around him. The lover that he had as a young man had to be banished after they murdered together. His children grew to despise him and his wife could never be satisfied.
But, that’s their story — not mine.
I read a Proverb a day searching for the truths of the kingdom of God. I love this one, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Proverbs 17:22.
Don’t let a crushed spirit dry you up!
Stop listening to the story of your past through the eyes of your abuser. Take the walk on the dangerous side and find your own value seeing you!
Looking at ourselves, we find accountability to our pain.