Beginnings

I have always thought my testimony was rather boring.  For people that don't know, a testimony, when referred to by a christian usually means a life story of how that person came to know Jesus or their journey as a christian.  Everyone is on  a journey in life and everyone has a story to tell.  My story seemed boring and when asked to share it I would almost feel ashamed that I didn't have anything more to tell .... and deep inside a sense that I was not sharing the whole truth.

When I shared my testimony I often would say something like " I was saved at the age of five.  I practically grew up in church and its been a growth process ever since" .  People would be happy with that and encourage me to keep on growing in my faith.  There was a lot of talk I like to call "christianese" where I would occasionally hear questions like "how is your walk with Christ?" or "How is your prayer life?".  I suppose there is nothing wrong with those questions except that for me at least they were obscure and prompted well practiced responses.

The truth of my life was painful and I kept it separated from what I wanted to believe my life was.  I had created a delusion in my young mind that I was very lucky to have a family with two parents and siblings that got along well.  I was very lucky to be born into a christian family with parents that brought me to church.  I believed what other people saw - that we had a healthy happy family and what a good example we were to non-christians.  I am now 31 years old and my delusion was shattered only 3 years ago.

I had a room in my mind where I put uncomfortable, unexplained painful things.  The door of the room always remained shut. Occasionally I would add things or it would open on its own- but it would always be slammed shut again.  Inside that room was the painful truth that for most of my life I was molested by my dad.  I remember being aware that something was "off" and I did not like what he was doing to me.  I slowly grew aware through school friends about words like "molestation, rape, incest, sexual harassment" and I would wonder if they applied to me.   I grew aware that what my dad was doing was inappropriate while watching a movie in class that I was sure my parents would have barred me from seeing (they had pulled me out of any sex ed type of class).  I began to resist him and tell him to stop.  I remember telling him he was "hurting my heart" when he insisted that what he was doing was not physically hurtful.  I remember him apologizing and then not believing him because it would happen again.   I started to shut down emotionally and spiritually as well.  Why would God allow this to happen?  Did He not love children?  Why would He tell me to honor my parents...my dad? Why didn't He stop my dad? Those questions remained unanswered. I felt what others wanted me to feel because what I truly felt was unacceptable and had been ignored.  I was a good daughter , obedient , quiet. As a teenager I was not rebellious and accepted the view points of my parents without challenge. My parents considered me a good example for my younger siblings.

I often would wonder if my younger siblings were treated as I was by my dad.  I would quickly shut the thought out , not able to comprehend the situation and take responsibility for what was happening to them.  I would wonder if my mom knew.  My dad had warned me about telling her and I knew something terrible would happen to our perfect family if I did.  I felt I would be responsible for a possible divorce if I told anyone.  I accepted the situation for what it was and coped with it as best as I could.

As I grew older I started to realize that I was not my-self.  I felt like I was someone fake and the real me was inside somewhere.  I didn't make friends easily and I was not open or sometimes even friendly with the friends that I did have. I felt lonely - but I didn't realize it at the time.  I finished high school and went on to nursing. I chose nursing because I felt that I would be more useful that way.  My heart was in art , but honestly I didn't really understand what it meant to be passionate about something or to "follow my dreams". I just wanted to be what others wanted me to be.  I wanted to be acceptable and able to support myself.  I remember being a student and being challenged by another nurse that I was working with if  I was passionate about nursing. She suggested I should go into something else.  I was very offended at the time. I thought she had no right telling me what personal life choices to make when she barely knew me.  I think I could have handled the situation better if I had realized how little I knew about myself.  As I struggled on my already shaky confidence in myself began slipping away and I started to think about quitting (before I failed something).  I felt unable to defend myself and the choices I made.  I felt like I was being attacked/picked at rather then assisted.  I finally decided to stop the RPN program and take a break , hoping to pick it up again the next year.  Feeling the failure of quitting something I thought I was meant to do kicked in an old character trait of determination/stubbornness.  I remember thinking "I will finish that program , and I WILL be a nurse".  I reapplied to a different school which was a further drive but it was doable and I did finish the program.  I felt proud of myself but I still felt like an empty shell not really knowing what to expect in life and not really looking forward to a future in nursing.

Bird With Broken Wing

Bird With Broken Wing

This is a song sung by a man named "Don Francisco".  My uncle Gary particularly liked him.  He was talented in singing stories and played music with a folk- like sound.  This song sounded haunting to me and I would always wonder who the bird was , was it the Israelite nation being stubborn? Or someone he knew?  It stood out from the rest of his music to me.

In the following posts I have written about something that has remained hidden in my life.  Most of my thoughts are focused  on this topic.  I've left out most of the details, the main parts were hard enough to write about.  Some memories I have excluded as they involve my siblings or my mom.  I feel like they should tell their own story when they are ready. I don't feel ready to write this , or I don't want to.  For about three to four years now God has been hinting, pushing, poking and prodding me to get these memories out on paper (in a sense).  I have ignored Him, made excuses and flat out refused to do it.  It has been very difficult to think about my relationship with my dad even after the counseling I went to.  Healing has been a long and painful process and by refusing to do this I think I may have been prolonging it.  For family members who read this, it is not my intent to spread gossip or hurt anyone. Please respect this and my family.

 I'm talking about my memories only and most of the ones that are written down have been shut behind a door in my mind for a long time.  When I opened that door they, for a time, took over and seemingly tainted all of my good memories.  I know that memories are fickle and not always accurate so I tried to focus on the emotions I remember feeling.  The good memories are starting to trickle back as I deal with the ugly hidden ones.