How He Shaped Me

Years ago I started this blog after my mom died, partly because I had a story to tell. One that I had kept inside so as not to hurt my mother. Even when I did share it, I kind of left out a lot of details. I worried that some day my father would read it, or someone he knew would mention it. I also wanted to be respectful of my sister and brother, and not give specifics of anything that wasn't my first hand experience. If you are reading this post, it means that my father has died. 

I covered a lot of this story in the "Part 1" posted in 2013, so I will try to not just duplicate the whole thing! If you are interested, you can read about my childhood, parents, and how I met Chad: (Part 1 and Part 2). FYI, you're gonna need to refill that coffee mug first! Those two parts are longer than this post is going to be!

Neither my father nor my childhood were ideal. We are an example of how abuse frequently gets passed down from one generation to the next. My dad's mother died when he was just 10 years old. According to my dad, his father was a mean drunk that beat my father, and left him to fend for himself frequently. As a result of my dad's upbringing, he was abusive too. As a young adult, I could not forgive my father for the abuse I suffered. Even more difficult for me was the feeling of abandonment when he left after the divorce.

I was a painfully shy little girl. I hid behind the teacher or my mom instead of speaking. I sat in the front of class, and listened, but didn't talk (all who know me now are probably finding this hard to believe). I got bullied before that was even a term. I was depressed and withdrawn for most of grade school. I did meet with the school psychologist for a year or two after the divorce, but they were not much help. In fact, 20 years later, I requested those records and read through them. I was shocked to see the notes from 1st and 2nd grade, where I talked about the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse in my family, and told them I still saw my father from time to time. NO ONE DID ANYTHING! The 1970s apparently were before the time of mandatory reporting! But I digress....

At some point during junior high, I got tired of being everyone's punching bag. I was angry with my dad for leaving. I had so many bottled up emotions regarding the abuse, and my parent's failed marriage, that were never discussed and had just been pushed down deep.

It was during 7th or 8th grade that something deep within me broke, like a dam bursting forth. All the pain, hurt, and anger boiled over. It created a hardened teen, who was ready to fight (and frequently did fight) over a sideways glance from anyone, anywhere, anytime. I stopped being bullied, because I stopped taking it, and started fighting back. I had a short fuse, and it didn't take long before fellow classmates were afraid of me. I was done being a victim. Done letting anyone else hurt me. I thought I was taking control of my life. Instead I was building walls and not letting anyone in. I built a fortress actually, vowing to never let anyone hurt me. Ever again. (As a side note, when I did this, I pushed everyone else away, and thus proved that I was as unlovable as I thought.  I also confirmed that people cannot be trusted. Self-fulfilling prophecy and self-sabotage at its finest).

I spent the next decade mad at the world. Even after Chad and I met, it was a regular occurrence for him to escort our children out of a store, as I was about to climb over the counter and beat the cashier for messing up my order. Yep, I was a total mess, and it got worse.

In 1993, we had our little girl, and things changed again. My "Part 1" story I mentioned above talks about how I was scared to death that I would become my father; that it was somehow inescapable, and I would abuse my children too. I wanted so badly to parent them well, to not lose my temper, or hit them in anger. I did not want to make critical comments like my mother, or call them names and belittle them like my father. While I never feared that I would sexually abuse my kids, I did protect them from everyone, in an unhealthy and over the top way. If I did anything wrong during this time, it would be that I made them afraid of people. Trust no one was my motto, and I think I passed that on.

As Katherine started to grow, my fears grew too. She was such a loving cuddler, and would not hesitate to crawl into a stranger's lap for a hug. I was scared to death that someone would touch her. I even had trouble letting Chad change her diaper or bathe her. I did not like either of us being alone with her, for fear that someone would even think we were doing anything inappropriate. I was a basket case! The first couple of years of her life brought back memories that had been hidden away for years. I had nightmares, and struggled with depression. It was almost like I was reliving my abuse at the same ages as she started to grow.

During this time, our marriage was in dire straits too. Besides our rocky start, we were still both young, immature, and selfish. Adding kids to the mix increased our stress levels (Imagine that! I actually thought having kids would help our marriage hahahaha) We fought a lot, frequently about the kids. My short temper and mama bear tendencies of knowing best how to care for my kids, left little room for Chad's input without a fight. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) Chad doesn't back down either, so some of our fights got out of hand, and we didn't fight fair. Our marriage took a hit, and eventually we split up. During those few months, I was suicidal. My life was spinning out of control. I had blamed my parents for many things, and now blamed Chad too. I had always blamed myself as well, since my personality is such that I feel like an unworthy failure most of the time when I don't do everything perfectly.

In those darkest days we began counseling. Couples' counseling quickly became Shari counseling about the sexual abuse. That counselor (Jim) had the personality we both responded well to. He pulled no punches in confronting us both with our issues. He didn't allow us to make excuses. Jim helped me deal with so much of the garbage in my past. He later said that he was surprised that I never actually killed someone, or did jail time. He knew I was a ticking time bomb, and wouldn't have been surprised if I had snapped, and hurt someone, taking all my rage out on the wrong person.

I realized it wasn't just my father I was angry at, it was my mother too. How could she not protect me? She even let me keep seeing him after the divorce! I was also angry with her for the years of being so critical of me and telling me constantly that my dad never loved me, which really impacted me as a child.

I cannot deny that my father's actions have had a huge impact on my life. He really shaped me, who I was and who I am. For a long time, I thought my fate was sealed, and that I would become my father. If you read through "Part 2" of my story from 2013, you know how I started to become sick shortly after Chad and I had finished counseling and gotten back together. My dad and I had reconnected after high school graduation in 1988. We have had many periods in my life where we have stopped talking and seeing each other for many years, and then reconnected. We stopped talking again during the time when my life was coming apart in 1994. During Chad's and my separation that year, Chad really was the first one to show me unconditional love. I am still not sure how he stuck with me, since I did my best to push him away, but I am so incredibly thankful he did!

In 1998, when we became Christians, I slowly started to think about my dad again, especially since I had just finished 2 years of individual and couple counseling. I longed for our relationship to be different, so much so that in the past, I was willing to do whatever I had to do to "make" him love me. I really had to examine my own heart, my anger, my fear, and my desires. God graciously helped me to heal. Father's Day had always been painful for me. I wrote this FB post in 2015. I learned about the true love of a father, first with Chad's example, and then through my heavenly Father. As I started to understand grace and forgiveness, I knew I had to come to a place of forgiveness for my dad. I struggled with the 5th commandment to "honor your mother and your father." What did it mean to honor them? I knew that God forgives us when we repent and draw near to Him. I knew He requires us to extend that forgiveness to others, but I knew I could not "forget" and wasn't sure if that was required (I would now say we do not need to forget to forgive, by the way).

I did eventually reach out to my father and offer forgiveness in 1999. I had hoped for an admission of guilt regarding the abuse, but the most I got was an acknowledgement he may have been hard on us, and that if he ever touched me or my sister, which he said may have happened, it was something he couldn't remember doing. God did help me to forgive my dad, but I always remembered. My kids were never alone with him, not even long enough for me to use the bathroom. Forgiveness is about leaving the past in the past, but not about pretending it didn't happen. This was difficult because my dad loved to talk about the past and all the mistakes my mother or I had made. I struggled until the very end to shut down the conversation with him as he turned it back to those topics. As God taught me and enabled me to forgive my dad, a wonderful thing happened in my heart! I was finally free of the anger, hate and sadness. God truly restored me!

Sadly, I still struggled with the desire to please my dad, have a good relationship, and not make him mad (he was quick to anger, and hold a grudge, and he let some of his siblings go to the grave without mending fences). On the one hand, intellectually, I knew I did not need that relationship, yet emotionally I still wanted it. Due to this fact, I let him emotionally abuse me until the very end. Many a phone call ended with me in tears, shrunken in a corner weeping, and feeling like that 6-year-old girl again. I stood up for myself with evertyone else except him. I chose to love him, and doing so cost me something, but it also taught me a lot. I am sad he is gone. I am heartbroken that his mental health issues kept him from ever really knowing me (He was a talker, but not a listener). I am sad that he spent his whole life with anger and never knew the love and forgiveness of a Father that I have grown to depend on.

So, yes, my earthly father shaped me, as did my mother, my illness, and many other things I have experienced in my life. Most of the things in my past I would not wish on anyone, and yet I have peace and gratefulness to my heavenly Father. The One that started knitting me together in my mother's womb towards the end of 1969 is still forming me today. I am not who I once was, and not yet who I will be either. All of life's moments, good and bad, are used by God to mold us and teach us. I am beyond thankful for His grace that kept me from becoming my father. The lineage of alcoholism and abuse ended with him. While I was not a perfect parent, I believe my children have seen God's grace and favor at work in our lives.

I do not want to make it sound like it has been easy. The enemy of our souls has been at work reminding me that I am my father's daughter. My inner critic has the loudest voice in my head, but the words of my mother saying "you are just like your father", or my grandmother (who despised my father) actually calling me the "Spawn of Satan", embedded themselves in my brain. To this day, I have to make a choice to take every thought captive, like scripture tells us to do, and believe the truth of God, and not the lies of the devil. I am a work in progress for sure, but thankful for every step forward God enables me to take!

At the very end, my father did tell me that he had prayed a lot that I could forgive him for all he has done to me, and the hurt he caused me. That is as close to a confession I would receive, and I made sure to tell him he should pray and ask for God's forgiveness, which he said he did. If you are reading this, it is not too late for you to repent and ask God for forgiveness. He can restore you and help you to forgive others who have hurt you. If you are reading this, God has graciously provided you with one more day, one more chance to place your faith in Christ, and not die apart from Him, still in your sins.

Many of you know that my mother died on July 24, 2011. She attended church with us for the last few years. She made a profession of faith, was baptized, and in the end, I really saw the grace and peace of God, our Savior, comfort her in her final days.

I am so incredibly thankful, that while I am an orphan now on this earth, God has "...predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of His will." My heavenly Father has all that I need, He comforts me, and he will comfort you as well, if you believe and repent, and come to Him in faith today...before it is too late. I truly am my Father's daughter. Praise be to God! 

Until Next Time~
Shari

P.S. This whole post reminds me of one of my favorite songs, an oldie but goodie! It is from CCM artist Eli, who seems to be a talent that virtually disappeared, but I still go to his CDs when I am belting out tunes in the car or while cleaning! 

Eli "Second Hand Clothing" video. 

Enjoy!

Just One Click

 Sometimes it only takes one click to take you back. Most days I don't think about it, but it most definitely impacts my life daily. It shaped who I am, what I do, and how I respond to both people and situations. Just one click on a documentary that was recommended for me got me thinking, and then blogging. Leave No Trace is a documentary about the Boy Scouts and their downfall as stories and documents were brought to light about ten of thousands of boys who were sexually abused in the scouts program and camps. 

In my last post, I talked about being bullied and how that made me an angry teen, but I didn't touch on this other reason for that anger. The specific incident this documentary made me think of happened shortly after my 13th birthday. My mother had always told me stories of my sister being a candy striper at our local hospital, and I really wanted to do it also. I lived about 3 blocks from Mercy Center in Aurora, and walked over to ask questions about it. I learned you had to be 13 to volunteer, and they no longer called them candy stripers. On my 13th birthday, in May 1983, I walked over to Mercy Center again and signed up to be a volunteer. I started off delivering flowers to patients the very next day. I had no friends, so I had a lot of time that summer. Within a few days, I was given more hours and duties. I started working at 6 am each weekday in the admitting office. 

In 1983, the hospital had no computers, so there were piles of paper charts and a huge white board with every bed number in the 5 story building. We had to keep track of each patient coming in and going out. I would get them to complete paperwork, give them a wrist band, assign them a bed, and walk them up to their room. I LOVED this job and must have excelled, because after a couple of weeks, the manager was letting me come in alone on Saturday mornings to check in the rare patient who had a weekend admission. 

In the course of my duties, I had a lot of contact with the nursing station and environmental services to make sure beds were empty and clean. I will spare you the horrid details, but the first week of August that summer, less than 8 weeks from when I started, I was standing in the volunteer coordinator's office being fired. I was sobbing and begging, but she was adamant. As I stood there very upset, weeping and shaking, she explained that a nurse had reported me being in a utility closet with a (30 year old) janitor. She raised her voice to shame me for being young and not understanding that people had jobs to do, and I was an unhelpful distraction. Yes, you may have guessed, I wasn't in that closet looking for supplies. I often wondered how that nurse and supervisor were able to turn a blind eye to something so heinous, but by then, I had already learned how to keep silent and had no self worth.

To be honest, sometimes I wonder if I had a sign on my forehead. I am not joking. I was sexually abused by 5 different adults by the time I was 18. As a teen I was also an easy target for the boys in my age bracket. "Date rape" wasn't a term I heard in the 80's, but I definitely understand what it is and how it happens....at least for me. I was really unable to say "no". I had learned that I didn't have a voice or a choice. I deserved what I got, or at least that is what I thought. I rationalized that if I wouldn't have been there, it wouldn't have happened, so there is no one to blame but myself.

As you might guess, I dealt with depression and anxiety, but I was also angry at the world around me. I really was broken. As broken as a person can be anyways. I had trouble making real friendships and had no sense of "self". My past continues to impact my present, although less than it once did. I still keep people at a distance, have trouble trusting people, and I may never have a truly healthy view of sex, but having a wonderful, patient and understanding husband has absolutely been great medicine!

The two of us dealt with my past when we went to counseling in the mid 1990's, and shortly after that is when we came to Christ. People like to present Christianity as a "cure all". The message that frequently gets communicated either directly or indirectly is, "Trust Jesus and you will be happy and healthy." If you know anything about my life or have read this blog, you will know I am not healthy physically and have struggled with mental health in my life as well, so that clearly isn't a true picture of Christianity.

God's word doesn't promise us health or wealth, at least not the earthly defined type. He does tell us that He is with those who love Him. He comforts us, petitions God the Father on our behalf, gives us His Spirit to guide and strengthen us, and leaves us his Word to give us peace. Christ knows my pain. He shares in our sufferings. He suffered unimaginable pain while hanging on a cross, dying, bearing the weight of my sin. He took my place then, so that I might have life everlasting. On that day, I will know what true health and wealth is. Between now and then, I will keep clinging to my Savior, trusting Him to continue to heal my heart. He is teaching me to love and forgive others as He loves and forgives me. If you haven't trusted Christ, asked Him to forgive you, and placed your faith in him, my friend, please cry out to Him today. He won't take away all the pain instantly, but He will see you through it. 

The early years of my life were marked by trauma, grief and loss. The later years have been marked by grace, healing, and restoration. Praise be to God!


Until Next Time~

Shari

P.S. In case you missed the posts about my childhood and early adulthood.