Moving On

When I first started this blog I was fractured. I had divided myself into parts so I could choose who received which part. There were too many people who weren't safe to offer my whole self to.  Especially my spiritual self.  That I protected most fiercely.

As I've healed, I've learned that it's not about whether others are safe or not. It's about being safe within myself. It's about bringing all those pieces back together to create the whole me. It's about believing that all those pieces are important and make me who I am. It's about believing that the whole me is good enough to offer to the world. To not have shame for what I've experienced. To believe in what I've learned enough to shout it to the world. To not feel like I have to apologize for who I am.

Like a broken vase, the big parts of me have been glued back together. There are still visible cracks and tiny chips that will never be found, but for the most part I am whole. Whole enough to serve my purpose. To do what I was meant to do.

A vase holds water. Water that sustains the life of cut flowers. Water that allows those flowers to offer their beauty to the world.

I can hold water again. I can help sustain others. I can help others offer their beauty to the world. And I can offer my own.

I don't need this blog like I used to. I am not hiding parts of myself from the world anymore. I will leave it up because these few posts contain parts of my testimony that I was afraid to share.  These parts of me matter.  Sharing our souls matters.

But I don't need to write here anymore. I am confident in offering my story to the world, including the people I know. I don't think I'll post here again.

I will continue to write. I will continue to document my healing and my testimony. But I will do so on my main blog, The Mess that is My Life. If you would like to follow my healing and learn with me, I invite you to follow me there. The next post I'll publish will be my husband's story. He wrote about being an abusive husband and what he's learned and how he's grown. It will go up in a day or two.

I won't be writing here, but I am not going away. I still long to help others. I still want to listen and strengthen when I can.  I still want to testify.

Thank you for sharing in the spiritual parts of my journey. It helped to know I wasn't alone.

Father's Day

I came into Father’s Day apprehensive.  My last two sessions in therapy were about how to handle this day.  I have dreaded this day every year for many years.  Trying to figure out how to interact with my dad, whether or not to get him a gift.  Do I have to spend time with him? 

A few days ago an idea popped into my head for a gift.  I stumbled upon a song he mentioned about 15 years ago by an artist I’d never heard of.  How I found it at just this time and remembered that my dad wanted that song, I will leave for you to decide.  I believe I was guided.  I’ve let God know that I am willing to do this work and He is helping me.  Showing me that He’s got my back.

I spent many hours putting together this very personal gift for my dad.  Songs from his youth on two cds.  I was starting to think Father’s Day might not be so bad.  (I also made his favorite dessert, which is traditional.)

The morning went well at home with my husband and kids.  I went to church in a good mood.  The speaker was the son of one of my dad’s best friends from a few years ago (he passed away when I was in high school, I think).  He talked about his dad, and other crusty men, and how they parent.  How they show love.  He talked about the things his dad taught him.  Many things he said touched my heart in a very personal way.  I felt a love and tenderness for my dad that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.  It was healing for me.

As I listened to him speak I realized that my dad loved me in the only way he knew how, the only way he saw modeled as he grew up.  He provided for us and prepared us for the world.  He taught his kids to be hard workers.  Teaching us independence was important to him.  Teaching us to help others.  To be good people.  He never learned how to be tender.

In that moment, I felt impressed that I could be the one to teach him how to love me.  It wasn’t modeled before him, but I can model it.

Part of that is learning how to speak up when he says or does something unkind.  I need to be able to tell him when he hurts my feelings.  Something to work on in therapy.

I went up to his house determined to lead.  I can choose the relationship I have with him now no matter what relationship we had in the past.  Choosing a good relationship now doesn’t mean the past doesn’t matter, just that I don’t have to live there anymore.

I walked in and went right over and gave him a hug (I could count the number of hugs we’ve ever shared on one hand).  I presented him with his treat and then his gift.  He was receptive to all my offerings.  It was a good moment.

I don’t think I’m through it all.  There is still some fear that I struggle with.  And this was a good mood day for both of us.  But I feel like it’s more important than ever that I heal this.  I used to wish I could put off doing my therapy work regarding him until he was dead.  That would be easier.  Then I realized I needed to do it now for my own peace of mind.  Now I understand that if I am going to help him learn to show love in a way his family can feel, then I need to hurry.  He’s a healthy 70-years old, but our time is still limited.

Our Sunday School lesson was on having that mighty change of heart.  Letting Christ change us.  Choosing to give away all our sins to know God.  And sometimes beating our head against the brick wall to help someone change because we are being prompted to keep trying.

Our Young Women lesson was on forgiveness.  Letting go of hurts and insults is for us, to heal us.  And as we do, we can model for others.  Maybe they will see our behavior and our joy and seek to find it for themselves.  Forgiving others brings us peace.  And serving those who have wronged us helps us forgive them.

Everywhere I turned today was something guiding me toward healing my relationship with my dad.  This was not a day of coincidences.  This was God saying, “Keep going.  I’m with you all the way.”