I thought I was finished my list of people I had to forgive, people who hurt me.
In His usual gentle but persistent way, God brought me back to the list. "You forgot someone."
Forgot - who? I wondered.
"YOU."
Uh-ohhhhh. This was going to be a rough one. One of my favorite exercises was self-punishment. Even in front of people I would make disparaging comments about myself, my size, my looks, my habits. I didn't know how to take a compliment. "Oh this old thing? I paid $2.95 for it at Repeats." Or worse yet, I'd spiritualize my self-deprecation when someone complimented my singing voice - I'd totally take the wind out of their sails and slap their compliment in the face by saying, "Well, praise the Lord." (I've since learned to smile brightly and say "Thank you!" and mean it.)
I had taken to putting myself last. Always. Go to the department store, get something for everyone else but nothing for me. I didn't deserve anything. It wasn't like I didn't have the money either. It was that I just wanted to get in the store and out of it before someone noticed me. Time after time I would duck into an aisle to get out of someone's way, feeling like they were breathing down my neck, or wanting to get past me but couldn't because I was so fat. I remember going once to this one store, finding only something that I liked and wanted, but nothing on anyone else's wish list. So instead of making someone else stand behind me at the checkout just for my stuff, I put the thing back where I got it and walked out of the store.
I thought I was this horrible person because I acted the way I did toward people who mattered to me. Had to be right ALL the time. Had to win EVERY argument. Had to show off how much I knew. Had to make sure that my story of suffering was worse than anyone else's. If they had a cut on their knee I would show them the scar I had on mine from the 13 stitches I had when I was two years old...that kind of thing. Had to judge everyone's words, actions, beliefs, thoughts. My temper tantrums - well, the kids just avoided getting me angry because nobody wanted to be around that. My freak-fests: snooping around the house looking for secret stash, crawling around the bushes and under the deck outside, rummaging through all the cubby holes in the trunk of the car, under the seat.
Everything I did was fear-based. Even the fits of temper. Fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of anger. Fear of being wrong. Fear of being seen as stupid.
But as I looked at the things I did to hurt myself before getting into recovery, and then after I got into recovery, to sabotage it, I realized that I had never forgiven myself for having to go through what I did, for having to do what I felt I had to do to survive my childhood (I say survive, not go through; I was never allowed to be a child). I blamed myself for my own abuse. Huh. The sense of shame was hidden by several layers of "That didn't hurt" and "I'm warning you - don't corner me" - but it ran deep. It was very closely tied to that frightened, lonely little girl I talked about in "Beautiful" - the one who didn't at all believe she was worth anything.
My counselor explained to me that guilt and shame are two different things and that the first can be good while the second never is.
Guilt is feeling bad for what we've DONE. Shame is feeling bad for who we ARE.
It took a few weeks of constant digging and bringing to the surface all the ways I was hurting myself. I kept trying to wriggle away from it. Sometimes these self-defeating behaviors and attitudes resurface - they are that deeply ingrained. However, they are better than they were. I'm constantly learning of new ways to let go of the lies I was told, the lies I told myself after having been told them so long I believed them.
And I keep telling that little girl that she is something really very special, that she has a great purpose in life and she is only beginning to tap her potential. It's slow, but she's starting to believe me. One day at a time, she is starting to stop hiding in the closet.
At least now, if I see something I like in a store, and I want to get it, and I have the cash, I can allow myself that luxury.
It's a start.
In His usual gentle but persistent way, God brought me back to the list. "You forgot someone."
Forgot - who? I wondered.
"YOU."
Uh-ohhhhh. This was going to be a rough one. One of my favorite exercises was self-punishment. Even in front of people I would make disparaging comments about myself, my size, my looks, my habits. I didn't know how to take a compliment. "Oh this old thing? I paid $2.95 for it at Repeats." Or worse yet, I'd spiritualize my self-deprecation when someone complimented my singing voice - I'd totally take the wind out of their sails and slap their compliment in the face by saying, "Well, praise the Lord." (I've since learned to smile brightly and say "Thank you!" and mean it.)
I had taken to putting myself last. Always. Go to the department store, get something for everyone else but nothing for me. I didn't deserve anything. It wasn't like I didn't have the money either. It was that I just wanted to get in the store and out of it before someone noticed me. Time after time I would duck into an aisle to get out of someone's way, feeling like they were breathing down my neck, or wanting to get past me but couldn't because I was so fat. I remember going once to this one store, finding only something that I liked and wanted, but nothing on anyone else's wish list. So instead of making someone else stand behind me at the checkout just for my stuff, I put the thing back where I got it and walked out of the store.
I thought I was this horrible person because I acted the way I did toward people who mattered to me. Had to be right ALL the time. Had to win EVERY argument. Had to show off how much I knew. Had to make sure that my story of suffering was worse than anyone else's. If they had a cut on their knee I would show them the scar I had on mine from the 13 stitches I had when I was two years old...that kind of thing. Had to judge everyone's words, actions, beliefs, thoughts. My temper tantrums - well, the kids just avoided getting me angry because nobody wanted to be around that. My freak-fests: snooping around the house looking for secret stash, crawling around the bushes and under the deck outside, rummaging through all the cubby holes in the trunk of the car, under the seat.
Everything I did was fear-based. Even the fits of temper. Fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of anger. Fear of being wrong. Fear of being seen as stupid.
But as I looked at the things I did to hurt myself before getting into recovery, and then after I got into recovery, to sabotage it, I realized that I had never forgiven myself for having to go through what I did, for having to do what I felt I had to do to survive my childhood (I say survive, not go through; I was never allowed to be a child). I blamed myself for my own abuse. Huh. The sense of shame was hidden by several layers of "That didn't hurt" and "I'm warning you - don't corner me" - but it ran deep. It was very closely tied to that frightened, lonely little girl I talked about in "Beautiful" - the one who didn't at all believe she was worth anything.
My counselor explained to me that guilt and shame are two different things and that the first can be good while the second never is.
Guilt is feeling bad for what we've DONE. Shame is feeling bad for who we ARE.
It took a few weeks of constant digging and bringing to the surface all the ways I was hurting myself. I kept trying to wriggle away from it. Sometimes these self-defeating behaviors and attitudes resurface - they are that deeply ingrained. However, they are better than they were. I'm constantly learning of new ways to let go of the lies I was told, the lies I told myself after having been told them so long I believed them.
And I keep telling that little girl that she is something really very special, that she has a great purpose in life and she is only beginning to tap her potential. It's slow, but she's starting to believe me. One day at a time, she is starting to stop hiding in the closet.
At least now, if I see something I like in a store, and I want to get it, and I have the cash, I can allow myself that luxury.
It's a start.
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