Belong

I've always wanted to feel that I belong. In my family, with my friends, in my church, in my job. But there has always been a distance that I didn't know how to overcome.

In the last 2 weeks I've lost 2 people who were, in truth, tangential to my life, but I found myself belonging as part of their legacies. I went to their respective visitations and funerals, and was embraced and accepted, even though I feared being ostracized. "You didn't really know him." "You haven't been around her in years." These were my fears. What I got instead was total acceptance and appreciation from the others struggling with their own loss. And I got the opportunity to allow myself to grieve in my own way for my losses.

A sense of belonging is essential for living. We are meant to live in community -- not in a vacuum. What that community looks like is different for everyone, but the one common denominator is other people. I can't be a community of one. By definition a community is a group. To be in community is to belong.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Filling the Hole

"When you were a child who did you go to for comfort?"

Is this supposed to be an easy question? Is there a trick in here somewhere?

I am supposed to say, "My mother and/or father" right? That's the "right" answer. But what if it doesn't ring true? What if I can't remember that happening?

I don't think she meant it to be a difficult question? I wasn't really supposed to have sit and think about it. But I did. 

She followed it up with, "Have you ever felt fully accepted -- for who you are?" Another question where the expected answer is clearly, "Yes". It's self-indulgent to say "No". Needy. Attention seeking. 

The truth is this all my life I have been hunting for someone, anyone, to accept me warts and all. It could be that those people are already in my life and I just can't comprehend that they are okay with me. It might be that I'm just so afraid to trust, that I constantly hold back.

So another box has been opened. Another set of tears flowing as I realize that, while things are much better, there is still a hole waiting to be filled. God is there along with one or two flesh people, but there is still a lot of empty space in that hole. Space that needs -- longs -- to be filled with love, admiration, and acceptance. 

Like so many other things along this path of healing, I am going to have to fill that hole myself.


linkup with Just Write and Imperfect Prose

Hummingbirds and Validation

I'm sitting looking out of my front window, watching the hummingbirds swirl around the feeder. I wonder why they fuss and run each other off when there is plenty to go around. There are four feeding stations, but only one will land at a time and if another tries to land there is a power struggle with both flying to chase the other away. Which of course means no one gets to eat.

And I'm remembering dreams from last night. Dreams that are not reality, but it's obvious where reality intersects. The struggle for acceptance and inclusion. And that constant grasping can sometimes mean no one gets their needs met. So I laugh at the hummingbirds, and try to see myself in their dance.

I've been dancing as fast as I can for most of my life -- and not in a good way. The dance to be accepted, appreciated, validated, understood. Always looking for those things in someone else's eyes. If I can just get it right, they'll validate me, right? So if they don't validate me, it's my fault. And therein lies the flaw. The lie. That validation has to come from someone other than me. Someone other than God. 

I was validated the minute Christ let himself be put on the cross. I was validated when God created me. My validation is not and has never been about anything I do or don't do, or about anything that was done to me. My validation is that I am a child of God. Grafted into his family by the gift of Christ's blood.

But . . . 

“When I used to talk about myself or my abuse, I heard a familiar accusation: ‘You just want attention’. Those words echoed from my childhood. My parents’ dismissal told me I was undeserving of attention and I should be ashamed for asking for it. As time passed, anytime I ever got attention, instead of feeling validation, I felt guilt. I was “wasting someone’s time” since I was a waste of time. Once I dealt with the origin of that belief and the shame, I could enjoy attention without the accusations.” -- Christina Enevoldsen

Oh yes, I have been there for so long. I want to reach that place Enevoldsen talks about. That place where I can enjoy attention without feeling I've done something wrong. Because we all want attention, acceptance, validation. It's who we are to want to feel loved and important. And every child deserves that. 

So for today I'm going to work on remembering the hummingbirds, and the notion that there is plenty of love and acceptance and validation to go around, so it's okay for me take hold of my portion. It's mine, and I'm not keeping anyone else from getting their portion.

linking up with imperfect prose

Acceptance

I've decided trauma recovery has much in common with the grieving process. This isn't really news, but I saw a list of the five steps of grief and realized I've been through most of those in some way since beginning this journey.

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

I don't know that I went through them in that order. My therapist and husband will tell you I haven't spent nearly enough time on the anger portion. Obviously, I had denial down pat for years and years. The bargaining was a brief period of "just let me be crazy and they can lock me in a padded room" instead of this reality. The depression . . . well that's an ongoing issue, although not nearly as bad as it used to be. 

That leaves acceptance. I believe getting to acceptance is a process, not an epiphany. Unless you call it an epiphany the way Ann Voskamp does, a "light here, and then it's gone". Each day I learn a little more about accepting the reality of the abuse. I learn a little more about releasing the guilt and shame. I learn a little more about seeing myself as me, and not as their victim. Add up all those little bits, and that's the path to acceptance. 

I'm not happy I was abused. I'd trade it all in for a perfect happy childhood, except, who really gets that? And who would I be if I hadn't been abused? Don't misunderstand me. I'm just accepting the reality of my life now and how I got here. And reminding myself that my current reality is pretty wonderful. It's not trouble free, but life isn't trouble free -- not if you choose to really engage. And I want to be engaged.

So I don't shrink from the past the way I used to, and I don't dwell in the past either. But I do take it out and look at it, turning it around and around in my hands and heart, so that I can learn from it, and see how far I've come. 

"Acceptance means that you perceive reality accurately 

and consciously acknowledge what you perceive".

quote credit

linking up at Writer's Workshop and imperfect prose on thursdays

imperfect prose on Thursdays: acceptance

I still haven't talked with my parents, and it's looking less promising all the time. Last week I was convinced it was the right thing to do. Tell them the truth in clear, concise terms. It would make me feel better. I would be able to clearly see I had been open and honest with them. They would surely see, if not understand.
I shared my plans with my therapist, my husband, and trusted friends. There was a general pause that preceded responses from all of them. 
Why are you contemplating this?
What is your goal?
What are your expectations?


Couldn't they see I was trying to take the high road? Do what is right? Be the better person? Make sure I wasn't being unfair to my parents? Give them one more chance?


Couldn't I see that it was unnecessary at best, and horribly hurtful at worst?


I got some helpful responses:
:: While it may seem that you miss the little things, the thing I believe you really miss is the thing you've always missed - outward evidence of their love for you: their desire to protect you and keep you from harm. And then, when you are harmed as we all will be, to step in and lift you up.

:: The truth this side of Heaven tells us that hurt, evil and pain will exist but you can have confidence in claiming His peace and freedom from those things/people who weigh us down.

:: Think healthy. No one would want to live in a toxic landfill, and this is a mental/emotional version. Ooooooo, emotionally organic -- you will only take in high-quality healthful stuff, so if they choose to act like pork rinds and fried twinkies you will push back from the table bec you prefer to eat a delicious and nutritious Provencal country feast. Maybe that made you chuckle?

:: I am so sorry that your parents are hardware stores when you need groceries. The key is shopping at the right store to get what supplies you need. Now don't get me wrong-sometimes people advertise themselves to be grocery stores when they are really fast food places or hardware stores! But in fairness to them they don't even know who they are! You are a daughter of the King-a princess-a pearl of great price. You have great value and walk in that awareness and truth. God has given you great love to give and there are so many that know how to return it to you in a way that blesses you. Focus on those blessings and invest in them. Buy stock in the grocery stores!

My husband took it upon himself to reach out to my parents for me -- in kindness, compassion, honesty.

He got slapped in the face, via email.

What I needed, I think I've gotten. Just not the way I'd intended. A collection of emails back and forth between my husband and father that show each one's true character. 

My husband's nature to help and serve while always speaking truth.

My father's inability to see beyond himself. His unwillingness to take on the role of patriarch in all that is good and pure in that term.

"I don't know what could add to the pain we know now. I am glad Melanie is doing well. We are not."

This is what I know -- "Start with God -- the first step in learning is bowing down to God . . . First pay attention to Me, and then relax. Now you can take it easy -- you're in good hands." (Prov. 1:7, 33 The Message).

So I will immerse myself in His Word, which never fails. I will accept there are things I cannot change, and that may never be right this side of heaven. I will not make forever statements or judgments. I will relax in His hands. Turning everything, even my parents, over to Him and my support staff.

Blessings.

link up at imperfect prose on Thursdays

Horace

His name was Horace, and looking back now, I realize that he loved me unconditionally. He was married to my great grandmother’s sister. We just called her Auntie. They were old. They’d never had children, but had taken care of several generations of nieces and nephews. Their home was always open and welcoming. I’m sure he wasn’t perfect, but he seemed perfect to me. I never saw him angry. He was warm, loving and accepting. I could do no wrong in his eyes. 

My sister and I would go and visit them. If we stayed overnight we all slept in the big room in the attic. There were 2 double beds that faced each other from opposite walls. Auntie and my sister would sleep in the bed on the left while Uncle Horace and I would sleep on the right. I never felt as secure as when we were all tucked in for the night. Normally Auntie and Uncle Horace slept downstairs in their bedroom, but when we stayed they slept in the attic with us so we wouldn’t be scared.

Eventually they sold the house and moved to the country. Not long after that Auntie had a stroke and died. We all went to the funeral and I held onto Uncle Horace all day. When we returned to the house he marched straight back to their bedroom returning a few moments later carrying Auntie’s china doll. He carefully placed her in my arms and said, “She always said you were to have this. I gave her this doll before I went to fight in World War I.” I have treasured that doll and that memory ever since.

After that we didn’t see much of Uncle Horace. My parents apparently didn’t make the time to drive out to see him anymore which meant I couldn’t see him either. Later I heard he’d moved into a nursing home. Eventually I assumed he’d died.

A few years ago I went to visit their graves. I wanted to take a moment to let them know what they had meant to me. An oasis of love and acceptance in a childhood riddled with pain and fear. I placed flowers on their graves, and told them I loved them. That’s when I noticed Horace’s death date. He’d been alive when I married. He could have been at my wedding! I’ve worked hard to accept that I didn’t abandon him personally. I was a child and thus limited in what I could do. But I miss those opportunities I could have had with him to give and receive love and acceptance.

His is the first face I’ll look for in heaven.

linking up with Writer's Workshop

Feel Good Friday -- February 25, 2011

So it's Feel Good Friday, but The Girl Next Door Grows Up ISN'T hosting. Bizarre! However a big thank you to lia sophia tomgirl for filling in, because Friday just wouldn't be complete without FGF.

I attend a ladies' Bible study group on Thursday mornings. I've been with this particular group for several years now (I think). It is unusual because I went into this group all by myself. I didn't know ANYONE in it when I started! Those of you know me (or read me regularly) know how out of the ordinary that is in and of itself. It took me a while to feel comfortable and be able to speak my mind. At first I just sat and listened. Then I got to where I'd answer questions or read a scripture. Then I reached the point where I shared the story of my abuse with them. They've helped me deal with some tough family issues. They have become my friends and supporters.

Yesterday we reached a new level. I swear I wasn't on drugs. I swear I hadn't been drinking, but apparently I've reached the point where I'll say pretty much anything to these ladies. We got into a discussion about various religious groups and denominations. I held nothing back.

Now let's be clear here. It's not in my nature to be deliberately cruel or snarky or critical about others, but sometimes it does help to just say what you feel and have the response from others be understanding instead of judgmental. That's what happened yesterday. 

I feel even closer to those ladies now. I wanted to say that I felt like they actually liked me and didn't just put up with me, but I hesitated to word it that way because I didn't want to assume anything. One of those dear sweet ladies interrupted me and said it for me. Bless her heart! She probably has no idea what that did for me!

So my FGF is about finding out I'm genuinely liked for who I really am -- abuse, sarcasm, insecurities and all.

For more Feel Good Friday posts, swing on over to lia sophia tomgirl. Link up and leave a comment : )