I’ve been trying to remember the anger I felt over my past even just a few months ago.
The hurt. The betrayal. The abandonment.
The general sense of being let down.
Something has changed though. Something has shifted. My anger has subsided, and all I feel lately regarding my past is sadness.
Sadness over the things that little girl had to endure, and sadness for the people who simply could not be enough to care for her.
But the anger is gone.
And I don’t even really remember when that happened.
The hurt that was there started young and only increased with age. Themes of abandonment and emotional warfare no child should have to survive played throughout. Adults who were hurting, and who in turn inflicting their pain upon children; upon a child; upon me. A feeling that no one was listening; the no one believed; that no one heard the cries.
So instead, I held them in. I harbored them. I allowed myself to feel like less than. As though I would always be unwanted and unloved. Believing that no one would ever rescue me.
There is a chapter in Captivating titled Wounded that brought most of this back to the surface for me in the last few weeks. Had I read this book even 6 months ago this chapter would have torn me apart. I would have seen myself in every page. I would have read my own wounds in those of every woman described.
But reading it last week made me acknowledge that I no longer feel that way. That I am no longer wearing my scars on my sleeves as proof of where I have been.
That anger over my past used to be palpable. I couldn’t even talk about it without the rage seeping through. The tears would well up even after years had passed. The anger ruled.
But the anger I directed towards myself was almost worse.
For a long time I really did blame myself. I was always trying to present a version of me that was strong and capable and accomplished because I believed that I needed to be more in order to have people love me. I believed I needed to prove myself. I worked harder than most anyone I knew and I excelled at everything I did; either that or I quit before it became evident that I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t willing to not be good at something. I had to be capable. I had to be more. I had to earn love; because I certainly didn’t deserve it on my own.
“Many women feel that, by the way. We can’t put words to it, but down deep we fear there is something terribly wrong with us. If we were the princess, then our prince would have come. If we were the daughter of a king, he would have fought for us. We can’t help but believe that if we were different, if we were better, then we would have been loved as we so longed to be. It must be us." ~ Captivating - Page 69
Is that true? Do all women feel this on some level? Do we all spend at least some moments in our life wondering if we simply aren’t enough? If we have nowhere to go but down in the eyes of those who love us?
I care a great deal about what people think of me. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. I am a people pleaser. A peacemaker. A woman who is desperate for something to soothe those wounds; desperate to prove that I am better than I was.
But I also have to fight that voice in my head that tells me I am not enough. When I feel someone has put me on a pedestal, I fear the inevitable moment when I will fall. I fight so hard to be seen as something in people’s eyes (good, kind, loving, warm, intelligent… the list goes on), but the minute I am there I feel as though I should warn them of all my faults. As though I should let them in on all my dirty little secrets so that they don’t think too highly of me.
Because if they think too highly of me, surely I will let them down.
This is something I am still working on. And I wonder often how I can help any daughters of mine avoid the same traps. How I can help them to realize how worthy they are without making any changes at all.
How I can help them to survive in ways that I couldn't.
As a parent to daughters, how do you teach them to love themselves first? How do you raise them to know how special they are? How wonderful, and deserving, and whole they are.
How do you save them from the pitfalls of life?
Because wounded hearts are everywhere. Even if they manage to leave your home un-afflicted, there is still plenty of heartbreak to be found.
So how do you protect them?
I’m still working on my ability to see the worthiness in myself. I know I am still battling the scars left over from my wounds. I know it will likely be something that will take a long time to truly navigate through.
But I also know that the anger that was so recently tangible is no longer present. It is no longer permeating my every thought and move. It has ceased to have the power over me it once did.
The anger has been replaced with sadness. And not just for me, but also for the people who couldn’t be what I needed them to be.
And there is something to be said for that.
Something to be said for the fact that maybe someone actually did rescue me.
Maybe someone has healed my heart when I wasn’t even paying attention.
Maybe He swooped in and saved the day; easing that burden for me.
All because I asked him to.
We are all wounded.
But if we let Him, God can heal our hearts.
And all we have to do is ask.
ADSPACE
