Good fences make good neighbours

Over the last couple of months, ever since someone tromped all over one of my personal boundaries, I've been doing a lot of thinking about boundaries or personal limits, what they are, why they're important, how to recognize them if and when they exist, and how to respect them. I've even thought a little about when it is okay to cross those boundaries, and when it is NEVER okay to do so. 

Until I was in my forties, I didn't even know that personal boundaries existed, because when I was growing up, they didn't. When I started realizing that I had a right to take up space, that others had boundaries that I was not allowed to cross and that the same applied to me, I started realizing how many times throughout my life that people had barged onto my private property, even in the name of "caring," and proceeded to wrestle my rights to the ground. 

For example, I kept a diary when I was a teen. In it, I poured out my hopes, wishes and dreams, ideas I had, no matter how outlandish. I explored the depth of the feelings I was feeling, confided my deepest thoughts, and I found that in doing so, there was an outlet, a way for me to work through a very confusing and intense period in my life. 

One day, my mother found it. 
She read it.
She was horrified by the subject matter and the intensity.

She made me burn it. Not just it, but all of them that had gone before.

I sat in front of the furnace and wept in grief and intense anger and hatred as I burned - page after page - was forced to destroy what to me represented my soul: literally months and years of a journey I could have looked back on in my twenties and thirties ... and laughed about. 

That was a boundary that should never have been crossed. 
My mom thought she was being a good mom, protecting me, raising me "right." But she violated my privacy, judged me, and her punishment was way over the top.

It took me decades to forgive her. And yes, that was something that needed to be forgiven because IT WAS WRONG, and it hurt me terribly, even though she never apologized. 

Photo "White Fence" courtesy of scottchan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

When I had children of my own, I made mistakes with them too. I remember freaking out when I saw some things that one or the other of the kids was doing ... and then I remembered my old diary. And it made me stop and rethink. And yes, when I'd jumped over a fence onto their territory, I apologized ... eventually.

I remember that while they were still small and there were going to be people coming over to the house for a visit, people with children their age or thereabouts ... I would tell them to go through their things in advance and set aside those "special" toys that they didn't want to share, and we'd put them in a separate room that was off-limits until the guests went home. That way, they didn't have to feel forced to share ALL of their toys. It modeled for them that there are boundaries, that boundaries are a good thing to have, and that they had a right to their own privacy. That was HUGE. 

And it was one thing (among many) which helped me to build their trust over the years so that later, when I discovered something that I thought was horrible, I was able to listen and find out the "why" instead of freaking out and shutting forever conduits of communication that I wanted to stay open. I don't need to share exactly what those things were, because that's their stuff, not mine. But that communication stayed open, and at the end of the day, I'd rather that than secrets and lies.

So here's what I've learned about fences and about being a good neighbour.

• People have the right to have their own opinions. It is not my job to put them down for their beliefs and lifestyles.
• "Talking down" to someone is never okay. That includes both tone and body position. If someone is seated, sit. If they are shorter than you are, position yourself to be on the same level as they are, at the same eye level. 
• Nobody is any better than anyone else, regardless of age, gender, economical status, social standing, race, or belief. We are all in this together.
• Nobody has the right to tell anyone else what to do. Not even if asked. Giving advice is never a good idea. And downright giving orders (for whatever reason, even "caring,") makes people want to do the exact opposite of what you tell them. And they will never trust anyone who manipulates and controls them.
• People have the right to feel what they feel. Feelings are not wrong and need never be treated as such, regardless of age or gender. Babies to seniors, male to female and everything in between, feelings are feelings and they are valid and real to whoever feels them. 
• Kindness and acceptance go a lot further than condemnation and self-righteousness.

Good boundaries really do make good neighbours, good parents, good friends, and good spouses. The virtue of respect is one that - if cultivated in one's own heart and mind - can make this world a much better place. And, like all virtues, it is developed and nourished from the inside out.

Same same

There is a [word-] sign used by the local deaf community that means "Same" - it looks like the ASL sign for the letter Y - as shown - but the hand is not raised up but facing the floor (in other words, palm side down). The hand goes back and forth horizontally a couple of times between the two items or people being compared, as if sliding back and forth on an unseen table. If the deaf person talks when he or she signs, the words that come out are "Same-same." 
The idea usually is that the thumb and pinky point toward what or who is involved in that comparison. 

That doesn't mean that differences don't exist. It just means that at some level, there is something essentially the same about those two things or people. 

Illustration "Sign Language And The
Alphabet,the Letter Y" by
taesmileland at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And that sign can be a complete sentence when the second component is added - facial expression. Take for example the comparison between two people. I've seen my deaf friends sign "same-same" over the years with amazement, sympathy, sarcasm, boredom, delight, disgust, and a whole host of other reactions that convey tone of voice - something that (as yet) the printed word cannot do very well. 

I was thinking about this sign a couple of days ago and it came to me that no matter how same-same people think they are, there is always something that is different. And not just different, VASTLY different - just like the pinky and the thumb point in nearly opposite directions. 

And no matter how different people are, there is always something that is the same between them, just as the pinky and the thumb are part of the same hand and signifying (in their differences) that they are same-same. Basic feelings are the same regardless of gender, gender identity or socioeconomic class; the colour of the blood is identical regardless of the colour of the skin. 

I might feel uncomfortable around someone because of our differences, but looking for common ground helps me to accept that person and acknowledge his or her right to take up space. And ... (this is a more subtle but just as important a distinction) just because I might share an identity label (same workplace, same church, same family relationships for example) with someone else, it doesn't give me the right to assume that this person thinks or believes or has the same values as I do. 

Or that the person can automatically be trusted because of that one similarity. 

Or that someone of another group is automatically untrustworthy because of the differences between us. 

"Peoples is peoples," a wise man once said. (Pete from Pete's Diner in Jim Henson's "The Muppets Take Manhattan", haha). More and more, I'm coming to live my life on that simple principle. Each person is capable of both good and evil. 

My quest in recovery from the chains of my own limitations is to find the people in my life that I can trust, the ones who help me be truly me (without trying to make me exactly the same as they are in every respect), and then surround myself with them. And to discover those - while I might care about them - who are toxic to me, who try to manipulate or control me ... and to distance myself from them. To make sure that the "sameness" between my circle of friends and myself is concentrated in the things that matter most to me, and to let go of the differences that would tear me down and hinder my growth.

It's a tall order, but no other human being has the right to do it for me.

How to make bad things worse

"I see you're looking better than you were a couple of days ago. I wanted to stop by and tell you."

You should have stopped there.

I should have let you stop there. I was vulnerable and needed to talk to someone I trusted, not this perfect stranger to me. In the whole time I've known you, we've only had one conversation - a year ago.

"Thanks. I was struggling earlier this week, things have really been stressful. Thinking I'd be much better off if I just wasn't here."

Bad choice of words - she will think you mean something more than what you're saying. What I'm thinking of is stress leave, not "checking out." Oh what's the difference anyway. I just want her to go away. I wish she would just go away. I'm tired, I want to go home and get out of this awful place.

[condensed version of the repeated 10-minute tirade that followed] "Oh my God, Judy. You need help. You need to get help right now. I mean, call your doctor first thing Monday morning. I'm serious, get him to prescribe some antidepressants. I mean it! and I'm checking up on you on Monday to see if you've called him." 

Back-pedal. Let her know that is really not what you meant. AT ALL. 

Photo "Portrait of
Pointing Male" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Look, I would never commit suicide. Really. But I understand how some people can think that way."

Oops, I recognize that look. Oh crap, she's getting on her white horse and going to save the day. No-o, that's that LAST thing I want. All I want to do is get away from here, to go home, for her to shut up and leave me alone.

"No, that's way too close to the line. You've GOT to get some help. Talk to a therapist, are you seeing someone? you have to see someone." 

Oh great, now she's ordering me around!!! Why doesn't she just go away? Can't she see how stressed out she's making me? How can I get out of this? Maybe a little humour?

[By this time my head is in my hands as she rants on and on about how she was depressed and how she got help and that I need to do the same.] 

"So," I joke, "if I kill myself, THEN will you leave me alone?" 

This attempt at humour only adds fuel to the fire. Her reaction only shows how little she knows me. More and more she convinces herself that I'm in imminent danger and that she has to "save" me. Will she NEVER shut up?? 

[Finally I decide to be straight with her because beating around the bush isn't helping! I hate confrontation, but she's backing me into a corner. And when I am backed into a corner, I go on the offensive.] My voice raises; it is clipped and stern. "Listen. You are treating me like I'm two years old, like you have to be my savior or something. It's making me very uncomfortable, and I want you to stop this, and leave me alone."

She doesn't leave me alone. She goes on the defensive for a while, then turns around and attacks again, same pushy attitude, same ordering me around, same heavy-handed control stuff as before.

And she promises (sounds like she threatens) to check in with me on Monday. Which makes me not want to go there on Monday. Or any other day, if she was going to be there in my face all the time.  As a matter of fact, I hadn't started to consider suicide - even in jest (and it WAS only in jest) - until she started ranting about it. And now I was fantasizing about how many ways I could force her to shut her mouth!

You see ... how much better it might have been for her to say, "You look better today, you looked ill earlier in the week." and for me to say, "Thanks, I do feel a bit better," (which I DID until she started jumping down my throat) and left it at that. But no-o. My guard was down - I was tired - and discouraged - and vulnerable.

And what she actually said to me had the exact opposite effect than the one she wanted. Instead of giving me someone to talk to, she made me not want to talk to her about anything, because she'd only try to control my life and my thinking. Instead of making me feel like I was supported, she made me feel like I was being attacked, assaulted, and harassed. Instead of me knowing that I was cared for, I ended up feeling like now I was going to be her "special little project" and that I'd never be out from under her microscope. 

She may indeed have "meant well"... but her attitude and her actions were way over the top, and more of a hindrance to any help I might have been considering. I felt like someone who complained of a sniffle, suddenly being forced to go to the hospital and hooked up to an IV and a respirator.

Overkill. There's a reason they call it that. It's what makes bad things way worse. 

Never Alone

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others,
 for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness, 
 and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you
 are never alone."    - - Audrey Hepburn

You know, it's funny - I guess it ISN'T funny - what people will say to others without thinking it through. 

I was having a conversation with a dear friend earlier today. This lady has been my friend for about 15 years, and she is the kindest, sweetest soul who came into my life when I needed such a soul in my life. 

And right now she's hurting - mourning the loss of a family member. A family member who just so happens to be a beloved pet, one she has had for over 17 years. And she was telling me what some folks have been saying to her. 

They don't bear repeating. Suffice to say that the comments have been dismissive and unthinking, diminishing the importance of her pain because the loved one she lost had four legs instead of two. 

I wanted her to know that she was not alone. That there are people - fortunate, sensitive, and beautiful people (like us) who see the good in others (no matter what the species), who speak words of kindness (yes, even to such unthinking humans) and who have walked the path that she is walking now ... who know the pain of losing a beloved family member, be that two-legged or four-legged. For ... as I told her earlier, grief is grief, and it means that we have loved someone or some creature enough to feel something when he, she or it leaves. (Queen Elizabeth II once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love.") 

There is much to be said - when someone has experienced a recent loss (especially of a pet) and a person just can't understand "why there is so much fuss about it" - for silence, for being comfortable with NOT understanding, for NOT giving "pat answers" that might snuff out what little bit of hope the person might have. 

Photo "Lonely Woman On The Beach" by
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Loneliness kills. The pain of loneliness is something that outlasts physical pain. A person can feel isolated and abandoned in a crowd, and he or she can feel the loneliest when nobody appears to understand his or her experience.

Let's sit with those who've experienced a loss, and let them feel the pain, talk about their loved one. 

Let's just LISTEN. That's all. 

That's the most comforting thing a person can do is just to BE there and let that friend know that whatever he or she feels is normal. It's normal!! It's healthy to be sad when you've lost someone. The important thing for a grieving person is to know that that person is never alone, that there is someone to talk to, that there is someone who cares. That "being there" can give someone a tremendous gift: dignity ... self-respect ... the feeling that what they feel and think matters.

There is no need to ask questions in those moments of fresh grief about "what happens now." The time will come when those questions can be asked, but not now. Not yet. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Feelings are not bad or good. Feelings ARE. And people have a right to feel them. Being told that we shouldn't feel bad (or good) is a form of abuse that reaches down into the core of who we are. We were hard-wired for feelings, for relationships, for love. And when we remember that we are not alone in this experience, it makes getting through it so much easier.

Life is not a competition. It's a journey. It's better to go through it together in cooperation than trying to prove who's right and who's not.

It is better to look for the good in others, to speak only words of kindness, and to let each other know that we are never alone.

Stopped at the border

Several months back, one of my kids decided to take a trip with her (then) boyfriend to visit his parents in the States. She had just gotten her passport, and she was excited about meeting his folks. Everything was fine ... until they reached the border. 

The standard questions revealed that she had no job or schooling to come back to ... and the border guards promptly kept her on the Canadian side of the border while allowing her boyfriend through ... and they wouldn't let him come back to Canada. They told him to go home. 

In five minutes, her plans were foiled in spite of both of their protests. The rules were the rules; she was a risk of immigration fraud and they were sending her back home. She called us from the border ... and we hopped in the vehicle and traveled the 7 hours to get there and pick her up, and the 7 hours back were spent in pretty much total silence. It took her weeks to get over that incident.

Rejection. No matter what the source is, it hurts. 

It hurts even worse when the rejection (or even a perceived rejection) comes from someone who is close to you: a family member, close friend, or respected leader. 

Sometimes, though, the rejection isn't really a rejection at all; it's simply a border. A boundary. 

I've been learning about boundaries the last four years or so; before that, I wasn't even aware they existed and was extremely offended if someone prohibited me from entering a certain portion of his or her life. After all, I let the people I love to walk uninvited into my life, so they should do the same, right?

Wrong. I was wrong to not set up boundaries and protect my own space, and it was wrong of me to assume that they should be as dysfunctional as I. 

I'm still learning - learning to set limits with people, and learning to respect their limits as well. Someone expresses a need for me to change something about the way I do things, and in most cases if I know the reason, I will usually accommodate. 

Sometimes, though, that learning has a few speed bumps. Like last night, in a discussion with a family member, there was something that she asked me to change about my cooking, and I reacted. BADLY. I felt personally attacked and rejected and I lashed out! Then she decided to rub salt in the wound by telling me that I had hurt HER feelings, that my insensitivity (MY insensitivity??) had disappointed her, and then by proceeding to tell me what my reaction was going to be to her assessment of my character as well. 

And she was right. I was furious! 

After she left, I started examining my reactions. They'd been so intense - and what we were discussing was nothing to be that intense about - so I had to wonder what was behind them. In essence, I was looking for the deeper meaning underlying why I was so upset. There had to be more to it than just the surface issue.

Photo, "Businesswoman Asking To Stop"
courtesy of imagerymagic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It took me a while to find it. What I discovered was a whole belief system surrounding food, what it meant, (not just sustenance, but love), how I believed family members were supposed to react to something someone prepared for them to eat, and about a tremendous load of what psychologists call "performance anxiety." I had compartmentalized it; I'd found ways around it, like cooking two separate meals for the people in the house or taking things out of the bowl or pot for her use before adding other ingredients that she either didn't like or couldn't have. But this - this was the last straw.

At the heart of it, I felt rejected. I'd already made so many changes to what I cooked, how I cooked it, and even WHERE I cooked it, to accommodate this one person's needs. And now this. It was the tip of an iceberg of accumulated perceived rejections, the existence of which I'd not even been aware. So, naturally, my reaction was not just about the tip of that iceberg, but about the whole thing (even though I wasn't consciously aware of it).

To me, it was the same thing as having my love rejected. And as the saying goes, "Hell hath no fury...." 

To her, it was "only one thing." She didn't understand my reaction and was hurt by it. To me, it was "every last thing." I was wrong to react the way I did, lashing out like that. Human behavior sometimes baffles me - especially my own - but it proves I'm human!

And sometime today, I'll have a talk with her, tell her I'm sorry for lashing out, and explain what I was thinking. 

As for my belief system about food ... hmmm. It's tied into how I was raised, and into my own brain systems surrounding reward and punishment. It took a long time for me to develop these beliefs.

That will take a little longer to fix. But at least now I am aware of it. That's progress.

Putting me on

"You're putting me on."

No, I'm putting me on.

Some time ago, I heard someone make a required phone call to another person.  The tone was friendly, open, sincere, and would have put the other person completely at ease.  The caller obtained the required information easily, effortlessly.  I would have thought that they were old friends.  

What the other person didn't hear, though, was the tone of voice and the choice of words that came out of the caller's mouth as soon as the call ended and both parties hung up.  It conveyed disgust and contempt for the person who'd been at the other end.

Here's where I got this photo

I can't say anything in judgment.  I've done it - lots of times.  Sometimes we have to talk to people whose company we don't particularly care for - and we have to be civil to these people, for the sake of politeness or social norms.  Especially in situations like a businessman talking to a potential client, or a sales clerk talking to a customer. There's a mask of civility that we wear when we need to. We put it on - and when we're done, we take it off as soon as possible and confirm to ourselves that we didn't enjoy the experience.  I'm not so sure that it's wrong.  But I am sure that it's human.  

But when the other person is consistently crossing a boundary, belittling us or using us, it's time to take off that mask of geniality and let the other person know that he or she has crossed the line.  

For me, that's the time when, instead of putting a mask on, it's time to put ME on.  The real me. 

I've discovered something as I do this.  The more I put me on, the less I want to put on the mask.  I like the me that I'm becoming - and I don't want to be the doormat, the pushover I used to be, the one who strove for the least amount of splash upon entry, the one who hated making waves, the one who just wanted to disappear.  Putting on the mask becomes a distasteful task.  

Sometimes putting on that facade is necessary.  Sometimes.  But a repeated pattern of that kind of behavior can make me practiced in hypocrisy - I can so easily 'put it on' and 'take it off.'  It kind of scares - and almost sickens - me.  That's one reason I hesitate to engage in it.  I'd far rather be totally honest.  

When it bothers me the most is when I am in a situation where I believe that I am in a safe place - and all of a sudden I realize that I'm not - and that I need to put 'em on - let 'em think I'm behaving the way "they" want me to - so I can get away unscathed, unjudged.  Whoever "they" are.  Someone who calls himself my friend, for example.  Or perhaps at church.  Maybe even when visiting family.  Or at work.  

What a joy to realize when I really AM in a safe place, with trustworthy people, people who accept me for who I am and who don't judge.  There are a few such people in my life.  I appreciate their friendship - and their company - SO much!  

When I first started this new way of living and came across the expression, "rigorous honesty"... I thought that it meant with others.  It does - to a point.  But what I've come to understand is that it refers primarily to relationship with God, and with myself.  If I can't be truthful with myself, and with my Maker, I am SUNK.  The fact that I sometimes don't share EVERY little thing with someone else tells me that I'm learning who is trustworthy and who is not.  I can trust those that are trustworthy.  It's okay NOT to trust those that aren't, and learning who isn't trustworthy can only be done by trial and error. 

LOTS of error.

Of course, I try my best not to lie, even to those that I don't necessarily trust with my feelings.  I will answer truthfully, but ... briefly.  I've learned not to elaborate and give people ammunition to use against me later, even if they think that it's 'helping' by sharing something I've said in confidence.  

And I SO look forward to the times when I spend time with people I trust, so that I can put ME on.

Open Season

Since September 2011, when I e-published my book, (see my "About Me" page), I've been exposed to a lot of unexpected criticism.  I happened to mention in my book a couple of times some of the history that led me to the place of living life all bound up in grave-clothes: raised from the dead like Lazarus, and thinking I was free but unable to enjoy anything, unable to make any progress, wondering if this was all there was to life.  Part of that history is the fact that I was abused as a child: physically, sexually, verbally, emotionally and (worst of all) spiritually. 

The book isn't about the abuse, though.  It's about the hopeless state of mind I was in as an adult and how I found a way out, a way which I had never been shown or told about, and into a place of real relationship with God, with myself, and eventually with others, including coming to a place of forgiving my abusers!

Anyway, with only ONE exception, the reaction from the people I mentioned (never once did I give a name or an address; I'm not after revenge) and the response from people who think they know them, has been nothing short of vitriolic.  I'm reminded of the Pharisees who were present at the stoning of Stephen, who, when they heard the truth that they were responsible for the greatest atrocity in history, were so incensed that they plugged their ears, ground their teeth and started throwing stones at him to shut him up.  It was "Open Season" on Christians -- and Stephen was the first to be targeted. Nothing mattered to the Pharisees except their own image. The truth did not set them free... they didn't want to have anything to do with the truth.

Of course, I'm not equating myself with Stephen.  Or my birth family with the Pharisees.  But their reaction has been far over the top of anything that I would have expected, especially since I had given them the opportunity of reading the book before I published, and they said nothing to me about it at the time.  Only after I was published did I hear the rumblings of second-hand stories regarding the reaction of "the family." As it was when I was growing up, they seem to be more concerned with how they appear to others, than they are about how many people (possibly even themselves) could be helped out of the same hopeless state of mind through reading about my experience of inner healing, and applying the principles for "living life" that I learned along the way.  

Their reaction has helped me redefine some boundaries.  I spent my whole life, almost into my 50s, feeling ashamed if I told the truth about myself: hiding so much behind respectability and "what people might think" that I avoided becoming vulnerable and open.  As a result, I not only wasn't able to come to a place of healing from the hurts of my past, I wasn't able to help anyone else either.  When God finally brought me to the place where I was forced to ask for help, I discovered that what was required to begin to heal inside was absolute, rigorous honesty and openness at all times - first and foremost with myself.  

Since that time, it's been "open season" on Judy - all bets are off.  I have given (and continue to give) my will and my life over to the care of God, and nothing in my life is off-limits to Him.  And the road has been quite bumpy; at times it's been nearly overwhelming.  He's brought some pretty difficult things to the surface over the last while, things that I couldn't possibly face by myself - and has stood with me, strengthening me to face those things with honesty and trust in Him. 

The reaction of those people has only served to refine the lessons I have learned (and which I continue to learn!) while healing.  Forgiveness is a process that starts with a decision to want to forgive - and continues as you learn to let go.  Forgiveness doesn't mean you let people walk all over you again and again.  Some relationships can be salvaged and restored.  And some ... can't.  It takes willingness on both sides.  If the other side isn't willing, and wants to go back to the way things were (dysfunctional, manipulative, controlling, etc.) then it's time to walk away.  It's sad, but sometimes it has to be that way.  I can't expect them to be in the same place to which God has brought me by His grace, much as I might want that.  They need to come to that place themselves, and NOTHING I can do will make that happen. 

What I CAN do is continue to be open and honest with myself, with God, and with others - especially with those who might be getting to the place of desperation, the same place I was at 48 years old when I looked at my life and knew I needed help, knew enough to ask for it.  

And I got help, and hope, and healing.  And so can you.

The imaginary family

Grief comes in stages and waves.  Everyone goes through it in their own way.  And you can grieve a loss even if the person hasn't died ... or left you.  And it doesn't even have to be a person.  

I once had an imaginary family.  It was one I created - in my childhood - a coping mechanism to escape from the unpleasant realities of growing up in an abusive atmosphere.  I deluded myself into believing that I grew up in a Christian home, that I was fortunate, that my abuser really did love me, that I deserved the beatings and the constant criticism and that really, it was a happy, closely-knit family.  

Like I said...imaginary.  

The first wave of grief happened almost ten years ago.  Details don't matter - it was just my wake-up call to the fact that the family I had created never existed. With that realization - came a short period of denial (not long because the truth was undeniable) ... and then shock.  I went into an emotional tailspin.  I reverted back to the mentality I had when I was fifteen - and what I was then wasn't ... uh, shall we say ... appropriate.  I scared myself with my own behavior.  Afraid I might lose my ministry, I sought counseling - but got one of those "cookie-cutter" people who are more interested in statistics, pressing charges, and following the social worker manual than in listening to what I needed.  I told the counselor in my first session: "I don't want justice.  I want to be free."  I finished my minimum mandatory EAP sessions with that person and left, never to return.

Then the anger hit: white-hot rage. I cut off all ties with my family of origin, couldn't even talk on the phone with them without spitting nails.  For a good eight months I was livid as I started to review memory after memory.  The outrage was incredible.  Fortunately, I discovered the ministry of Joyce Meyer - and was able to work through about half of the rage and come to a place where I was willing to forgive.  At that point I was able to know a little peace.  My life started to make sense again, away from that family, whom I finally saw without the rose-colored glasses of denial.  But not quite enough grace to forgive.  Not yet. 

That was 2004.  In November of 2004 there was a crisis in the extended family that thrust me back into contact with them again.  I reverted within six months to feeling oppressed, criticized, abused all over again.  I gave up hope that it would ever get better.  Somehow, I was holding on to the idea that if I was just good enough, brave enough, honest enough, strong enough - they would see what they had done to me and change.  I was wrong.  

Four years later, on another front, I was ready to ask for help.  And I got it!!  This time, I got an amazing counselor and started to heal from the inside out.  It took about six months to a year in some areas - but there was progress.  I was able to come to a place of forgiveness.  I was even able to feel some compassion for my chief abuser.  Which, by the way, in NO WAY makes the abuse "all right."  Forgiveness isn't like that. (And that in itself was a revelation to me.)

For the first time in my life, I actually experienced acceptance from a whole community of people ... and happiness within me.  And freedom from the burden of holding on to so many of the negative messages I was raised with, lies I believed about myself, mind-sets I was indoctrinated with.  It was HUGE.  I was ... amazed.  It was so freeing, so many lights came on that I felt compelled to write a book about the process.  And I did!  my e-book was published on Smashwords on September 25, 2011. I named this blog after it. 

And I thought - silly me - that my family of origin would be happy for me.  

One person was.  I will give that person that much.  The rest - as I have come to find out because they discussed this behind my back - judged me and condemned me for telling the story of my journey - from December 2008 onward to my entering the world of recovery from the chains of the past. In doing so, I happened to mention once or twice in the book, that I had been abused as a child. This was the bone of contention for my family of origin. When given the chance, they said nothing to my face, so I assumed they were okay with me publishing! But I had forgotten what their natural way of dealing with things was: nicey-nice to my face and venomous behind my back. Some even accused me of lying, of making it all up.  Not directly - to be sure (because that's all part of the dysfunction) - but I did find out about it.  The feeling of being unaccepted, of being (how shall I put it best?) crucified by my own mother and extended family - was almost as unbearable as the first.  The main way to describe this feeling is "betrayal" followed by "frustration (also known as, "If they'd only ____") - and most recently, "profound sadness."

This second major wave of grief hit right after Christmas 2011, during a visit that opened my eyes to truths I didn't want to face - as dedicated to truth as I have been, there were some things I was both shocked and disappointed to learn.  I could call this wave of grief a lot of things but I think I can best sum it up by calling it "The goodbye wave."  

There is something so final about that word. Goodbye.  I read a poster once that said, "The only thing that's harder than letting go is moving on." That was the crossroads I have been facing the last few months.

I really had to finally accept that these people bore no resemblance to my fantasy / imaginary family - that my self-created idyllic group of people never existed and that these people ... the real people who would have ruined my life if God hadn't stepped in and rescued me ... would NEVER change, showed no desire to change, even insisted (and still do) that they did nothing wrong.  I knew that if I stayed around them, they would destroy what little bit of healing I had been able to enjoy, and that it was unhealthy for me to continue to expose myself to their extreme dysfunction.  My recovery from those chains took me too long and it was too hard a journey to have it stolen from me, eroded away foot by foot until there was nothing left.  

I'm still in the middle of that wave, riding it hard through all the stages of grief all over again.  It's difficult.  But I'll live through it ... and with better tools to be able to handle it.  And in the end, I'll be healthier for it.

Fighting Mad

Of the gamut of my emotions, the one I find most terrifying is my anger.  I have one of those powder-keg tempers with a very long fuse.  When I lose it - well, it's not pretty; people get hurt.  Fortunately it doesn't happen often.  Well, at least not as often as it did.  

At one point in my life, my fuse had burned down so many times that I was low on prima-cord and so I skimped on it - and then all it took was the right (or wrong) set of circumstances and I'd be on a 10-second countdown to a mission of total annihilation.  Destroy the other guy at all costs. Have the last word, have that sarcastic, biting "you-brought-this-on-yourself" retort.  Twist it around like I was the victim.  Not very nice, to say the least.  It got so bad that I walked around "fighting mad" all the time.  And it truly felt like I was mad.  Insane, that is.

I found myself thinking about this earlier today.  And then I thought of an obscure memory from my childhood.

We were out picking blueberries.  (I hated picking blueberries, hated raw blueberries, hated the stains I'd get on my knees, my clothes, etc.)  So I was watching anything and everything other than what I was doing - I could pretty well go by feel anyway.  We had a lot of cats when I was growing up.  Two of them were in the field with me.  Now these cats were both males - both un-neutered (before the days of automatic spaying and neutering, who could afford it back then?) These critters tolerated one another; they knew they had to live together but they weren't really comfortable sharing space too closely.  Yet here they were.  We were their people and they were telling us we belonged to them.  (Cats do that; they mark social territory with their presence, which is why your cat will watch you do yard work from a distance).  

The neighbour's dog decided to take a short-cut through the field where we were.  All of a sudden we heard this low moaning sound.  One of the cats had spotted the dog.  My head whipped around; this was going to be interesting.  

The other cat started yowling as well.  They both had their attention firmly fixed on this big dog, about five times bigger than a cat.  Then, as if on signal, the sound changed to what can be more closely described as the roar of a bobcat - as they leapt into the air together, the fur on their backs standing straight up, and frightened that poor dog nearly out of his skin!  He turned tail and ran toward his house, ki-yi'ing as he went, the cats in hot pursuit, still making that wildcat sound, claws unsheathed.  We were hooting and hollering, cheering the cats on.  The dog hi-tailed it out of there and only managed to get away with a few scratches on his hocks.  

But it was what happened next that struck us.  The cats slowed down, stopped chasing the dog.  Still filled with kitty-adrenaline from the encounter (as evidenced from their sticking-straight-up fur), they spotted each other.  The ears went back - the moaning noise started again and ... 

They went at it!  Each tried to beat the tar out of the other!  Fur flew - the bobcat cries came back, and we watched in stunned silence as for the next 30 seconds they fought like - well, like tom-cats!  

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over.  The "winner" stayed; the other went back toward the house.  

We all just LOOKED at each other.  Everyone was uncomfortable wth what he or she had just witnessed.  Nobody said a word.  But everyone remembered it.  By suppertime we saw the funny side of it - but in the moment, it sure wasn't funny.  

As I thought about this memory earlier today, it occurred to me that if I am primed for a fight, if I am expecting to be attacked, that feeling is not easy to shut off.  And if I am prevented somehow from defending myself, there could be some residual and unresolved anger seeking an outlet.  That's a very vulnerable - and frightening - position to be in.  Someone could get hurt.  And often it's not the person I'm necessarily angry at or that I feel somehow threatened by; this person might be beyond my power to influence through distance, time, death, social expectations, or whatever.  Someone else - possibly someone close to me - gets the spillover reaction, the leftover fight or flight response that remains while I'm still angry (which makes me more vulnerable, I've discovered).  And the end result is always that I end up getting hurt because the other person retaliates.  

When I'm living in the moment, facing each experience or each encounter as it comes, I can discharge that anger in healthy ways.  When those outlets are cut off, when I let anger build up and hang onto it, or shove it down under the surface ... it ALWAYS resurfaces and in the most distressing of ways.  

How much better to acknowledge and work through the feeling, to talk it over with God, and to remind myself that this too shall pass; there is no need to stay fighting mad.

It's personal

Everyone who knows me really well (hint, REALLY well) knows that I give great hugs.

I'm warm, generous, and loving.

But if I don't know you very well, don't expect me to hug you. It'll happen - in rare situations where I might feel especially close to a perfect stranger to me.  But on the whole, I'm just not that kinda girl.  And please don't touch me before asking my permission.

The average personal space for someone in North American society is about a two-foot radius all around.  Normal people have this private bubble around them that is the same size all the way around.  There's a reason that there's an expression "at arm's length" because that's about the distance that is at the limit of comfortable for most folks. (An interesting aside is that in Asian and Middle Eastern cultures, where the population is larger and the culture far more group-oriented, the personal space bubble is a LOT smaller.)


People who are quite private have a larger personal space than people who are primarily social.  It can vary as much as a foot in radius!  And those people who come from abusive backgrounds, or who have spent prolonged time in a war zone (such as is often the case with military personnel) have an expanded personal space.  It could be as much as four feet out in front.  And invariably, for such folks, the bubble is larger behind than it is in front. Mine is about 3 feet or so in front, and about 3.5 to 4 feet in back.

Even though it's invisible, it's just as real as the walls of one's house are, and sometimes I wish it came with a sign: [PRIVATE PROPERTY.  
NO TRESPASSING!!] 

I know a couple of people who are very uhmmm, "hands-on" with people.  They have to be touching the person that they're with. They (mistakenly) believe that all touch is therapeutic.  (shudder!!) 

When someone does that with me, my skin starts to feel as though it has snakes or insects crawling all over it.  It's very uncomfortable for me.  I just want to yell at them and tell them to LAY OFF!!  

My body yells at them - but they don't seem to get the message.  First I fold my arms or bring my arms or hands close to the front of me.  Then, I start to stiffen up. Or I  back away...if that's possible. Yet these people always seem to find a way to rub my back while they're talking to me - or my shoulder, or my arm. I just want the floor to open up and swallow me!  These enforced "let's go around and hug everyone we meet" sessions that are popular in my church and many others' churches - to me are torture for 2 reasons.  The scent issue is one - and this is the other: forced intimacy.  It's a form of assault ...in a way.  I like to have the freedom of choice whether or not to give someone else permission to touch me, let alone hug me.  Like Geraldine (of Flip Wilson fame) my motto is, "You don't KNOW me well enough to touch me!"  It's like someone walking into your house without even knocking.  Only a select few get to do that (which is why I always knock, even when visiting friends).  Not people who (for all intents and purposes) are complete strangers.

Of course once I DO know you better, you will find that I'm quite affectionate.  And that affection will be shared - with your permission - quite freely.

:D 

Turned off of God - by the church?

Something bloggers do is read other peoples' blogs. It keeps us fresh, prevents us from stagnating, and spurs us to think.

I ran across this one person's blog lately and I must admit I go there often. She herself is a committed Christian whom I admire. She posted something about the modern church, the way it turns people off of God, that touched a deep chord with me.

Here's an excerpt:

The church has this way of making it seem like the journey is over once you have entered its doors. Poor you, all lost and weary, come with us, we can show you the way, trust our path. If only it were that simple. I know that the message is well intended but the relationships between the "saved" and the "lost" are all too often tainted by agendas and expectations. Why focus so much on me? Save yourselves! Let your good works speak for your faith, or if you are feeling lost and broken then share that with me, or how about we all just shut up and listen? There were a few times I really wanted to say aloud what I was thinking. (Source: http://www.livinginthemystery.blogspot.com/ )

I responded in a comment to that blog entry. But my response turned into more of a blog in and of itself.

I know very few people among my circle of friends, Christian or not, who haven't been hurt by the church. So here (in part) is my reply to my fellow-blogger...

I've felt for many years that the church is shooting itself in the foot by telling all and sundry that the problems of addiction, struggles with temptation, and day-to-day "blahness" will all be over once a person has "accepted Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior" - ughh. As a matter of fact, being a committed Christian guarantees you MORE trouble. (All those who want to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution). The devil's crosshairs line up on the person who loves Jesus so much that it he or she is making a difference in his or her world. Not the kind of difference the modern church seems to think is "making a difference" - passing out tracts, spouting religious platitudes, and being (pardon the cliché) so heavenly minded we're no earthly good. In other words, out of touch with the "real world."

That brings back some pretty vivid memories of when I was a Bible-thumping raving lunatic...in senior high no less. People looked at me like I had 2 heads but I just viewed it as "persecution."

I wasn't being persecuted. I was weird.

No - the enemy doesn't waste his time trying to "get" these folks. They're already bound up in the grave clothes of the great god "Should." Old satan concentrates his firepower on those few who are walking with God the way Enoch walked with God. The way King David walked with God - in openness and honesty, warts and all, receiving love from God and loving Him back (sometimes even willing to make a fool of himself to do so!!)

Sometimes the problem with the church is that the Vision is lost. Jesus came to the down-and-outers, the addicts, the prostitutes, the guys who took money under the table. When we come to Jesus, we may feel uncomfortable about our past life of degradation so we surround ourselves with people we want to emulate. Problem is, we become a sub-culture and lose touch with what speaks to "regular people." There's a we-they mentality and it can easily turn into a siege mentality. We become so obsessed with reaching everyone possible before Jesus comes back that we forget to spend time getting to know Him more intimately, hearing His heart about the broken and the fallen. I've fallen into that trap. There's a tendency to do that the longer one is a believer. That wasn't what Jesus intended.

That's what the enemy intended. And if we're not careful as believers, we can fall into the trap of thinking we're doing God's will when what we're really doing is playing right into the enemy's hands.

Thanks very much for putting your finger on my tendency to let the pendulum swing to the extremes. In recent days, I've been railing against the same body of Christ that I'm a part of. In doing so, I'm in danger of becoming the loose cannon nobody wants to listen to. In my zeal to call Christians to a deeper life in God, I can come off all "holier than thou" as well. Or downright obnoxious. (Like the guy who leaned right into my face and sprayed little spittle drops as he spoke the words, "Do you know Jesus as your personal Savior?") - I shudder. Sometimes my firebrand tendencies are just as offensive to the unsaved and even to believers (who are either new to the faith or satisfied with their walk with God), as that person's "witness" was to me.
The truth is, stepping into a relationship with God is only the beginning of an adventure, not the end of a struggle. There's a whole new struggle - but one with a purpose. Contrary to popular belief, the struggle isn't against the people in the world (or even the church - haha). It's against the spiritual forces that will do anything to keep us from developing that intimacy with God that He so desires. The outward stuff (to which I sometimes refer as the "Do, do, do") will not be forced if we just concentrate on the inward stuff (the "be, be, be") and listen to His voice.

That was my comment.

Now - to clarify a bit. By "making a difference in his or her world" I don't mean what most church-going believers think of. I am talking about a life of love and joy that comes from a growing intimacy with God. This kind of life overflows in love, God's love (since He loved us first) - primarily back to Him - and then spills out into the lives of the people with whom we come in contact. It has nothing to do with the people we hang out with or don't hang out with, the kinds of clothes we wear or don't wear, the kinds of places we go to or don't go to, the kinds of music we listen to or don't listen to, the kinds of movies we watch or don't watch. It has to do with real people with real heartaches, real joys, real lives.

I posted earlier on Intimacy with God: "Oh God, into me see." That's the life to which God is calling me. In a more recent post, I talked about the walls coming down, but I failed to mention that this is only the beginning of the journey.

God has such amazing, sometimes heart-stopping adventures for us, even after He's taught us to fly.

Beyond the Walls

The picture at the right is a model built of the Temple that stood in Jerusalem in Jesus' day - the one that King Herod built. It's difficult to fathom how huge this place was. Those little pebble-like things at the left of the picture - those are houses.

The Temple was like a city unto itself. All kinds of activity went on in there, all to do with the business of worship, sacrifice, and alms-giving.

Outside, there were hundreds if not thousands of people whose lives were not in the least impacted by what went on inside, even though the presence and impressiveness of the Temple itself was a continual reminder of the rituals taking place within its walls. Yet the people outside were not practically impacted. Most of them believed that the state religion had little to do with their every-day lives and that it was fine in its place, as long as people didn't get carried away with it. (Hm, that sounds familiar.) Deep in their hearts, however, they'd been disillusioned by religion, hurt by its representatives, and therefore decided that God had abandoned them. They felt ostracized, judged, rejected. Among these were prostitutes, tradesmen, fishermen, farmers, tax-collectors, bakers, and many more.

Jesus did go to the Temple. But He himself said that not one stone of it would rest upon another. His prophecy came true some 45 years later, in 70 AD when Titus came in and razed Jerusalem to the ground.

He wasn't about the building or what went on in there.

Jesus spent the vast majority of His ministry outside the walls of the Temple - bringing help and hope to those who were in desperate need of someone to care, to show them what God was really like, and to meet them at their point of need, whatever that was. The vast majority of the people who followed Jesus around the countryside were the disenfranchised of the nation, the ones the Pharisees and Sadducees (whom Jesus called hypocrites because they put on masks of piety) looked down upon. The religious elite would never dream of sullying their reputations by hanging out with people who used foul language or went to the publican's house (that was the local bar - where do you think we got the word "pub" from?)

Jesus sought them out; He was constantly on the lookout for people who were hungry for a relationship with God. Like Zaccheus. Jesus loved people (still does) the way they were (and are). His message? God loves you so much that He is willing to give His very best so that you can be in a relationship with Him. You want to know what God is like? Look at Me, and you won't need to look any further. I and My Father are One.

Strong words. He backed them up with strong actions - and an unconditional love that drew in such people as Matthew, a tax-collector (a Roman sympathizer who profited from the occupation of Israel), Simon (a Zealot who was anti-Rome to the core), James and John (the tag-team brothers who were known as "Sons of Thunder"), Andrew and Peter (big, burly fishermen whose language was no doubt crude and unsophisticated), Mary Magdalene (a demon-possessed prostitute who, after Jesus delivered her from her demons, became one of His most devoted followers), Zaccheus (another tax-collector), Nicodemus (a member of the ruling council of Pharisees, whose religion was patently unsatisfying and who knew that Jesus held the key to a fulfilled life), and hundreds more of varied backgrounds and different occupations.

And Jesus did all of this, impacted this many people, outside the walls of established ritual, religion, and rules. He challenged the established thinking of the day and told instead of a Father who loved even when deserted, who forgave freely, and who continually longed for relationship with us.

Sometimes I wonder when we're inside the walls of the church building enjoying the service and reveling in the presence of God, what relevance this has to the people outside if it doesn't translate into us being the salt and light that Jesus talked about, that Jesus was when He was here.

Let's be honest. The deepest wounds we have received have been at the hands or lips of church members - haven't they? People outside the walls of the church know that. That's why they don't usually come to church or even want anything to do with God "if that's what Christianity is like." If they don't want to be stabbed in the back, they'll take their chances out there, where they're on their guard at least.

I knew one fellow once who was relatively new to spirituality, fresh into a brand-new relationship with God, who honestly believed that those calling themselves Christians would actually be like the Jesus they preached. His own relationship with God had transformed his life, set him on a healthy path, and restored his self-respect. He eventually got a job working in a (supposedly) evangelical fundamentalist church - it paid his bills and he was grateful to be working for people who he thought would not shaft him. But a couple of the leaders in the church found out about his previous life, perhaps felt threatened by the fact that he didn't worship at their church, and made his work atmosphere into a living hell. They judged him, did things deliberately to try to make him lose his temper and go back to his old way of living, and they generally attempted to manipulate the situation so that he would lose his job. They were more concerned (to use the temple analogy) with sweeping up inside of the walls, making sure that their little empires were protected, than they were about loving and accepting people who were made in God's image.

My friend became so disillusioned that he had to take stress leave and be on medication to control the panic and the depression into which he slid. The horrible actions of God's representatives made him question his faith and turned him away from, rather than attracted him to, the church. It took him a long time to heal from that - and it was totally uncalled for.

This happens all too frequently. We can deplore the actions of these leaders. But are we any different? How often do we go outside our comfort zone? Someone comes into the church - or even into our circle of influence outside the church - and (let's say) they look like a gang member. Tattoos all over, including the face, a nose ring, a do-rag - and smelling of body odor. Hm? Isn't the first thought to show this guy the door? I think of this example because just recently, someone showed up in an evening service somewhere who looked just like that. This girl who had been in the morning service brought him to the evening one.

Here's the thing. Nobody showed him the door. Nobody reached for his wallet or her purse to protect it from getting stolen. The girl who brought him, let him sit with her, right in the front.

Because the people attending that service saw him as a real person with real needs and real value, that night he gave his heart to Jesus.

Is he still going to have tattoos on his face? yes. Is he still going to have the nose ring and the do-rag? probably. Does it matter? Absolutely not!

Is he going to meet Christian people who will judge him by how he looks? Let's be real here - of course he will. Is it right? Certainly NOT! But lookit - this guy can reach more people for Jesus BECAUSE he has the body art, the piercings, the trappings of his old life. He understands the mentality of the culture he has just been saved from. Who better to reach the people in that culture than someone like him? I can't imagine some person in a 3-piece suit who won't even SAY the word "tattoo" - being able to reach that guy's friends... can you?? Wouldn't that guy in the suit do far more to damage the message of Jesus to them than the guy with the tattoos would?

God has a calling for each and every person who has made Jesus the King of their lives - a calling that is as different as each person is from another. Our life experiences are completely different and there are some people to whom we cannot relate. I can't reach the same people you can; you can't reach the same people I can. But each of us is called. Not to park our butts on a pew once, twice, even five times a week. We're called to go "beyond the walls."

We've been rescued from so very much! We forget that!! We isolate and insulate ourselves from the people "out there" because they have (so we think) nothing in common with us. Their speech is littered with um, colorful metaphors. They listen to different music than we do. Their lifestyles, centered around pleasure, are those which we don't share. They do different things to unwind after a hard day's work. This kind of thing is outside our comfort zone. We pat ourselves on the back and tell ourselves that we're coming apart from them and being separate. Our friendships are all with fellow-Christians and we can't seem to relate to the people around us who don't believe in Jesus.

But we do have something in common. We all need Jesus - them and us. Every moment, everywhere, in every situation. The life Jesus died to freely give us isn't to be kept in this one little compartment called "church." Once we "get" this - loving and reaching the people next door, or the people at work, or at school, or ... wherever God tells us to go (and it has to be God, because the guilt trips we hear sometimes over the pulpit won't cut it) ... becomes so much easier because we know there's no difference. We all need mercy. We all need grace. Jesus is the answer ... for everyone.

There is no "us." There is no "them."

If we are silent, if we stay in comfort and ease inside the walls, God will find another way to reach them - but we will have missed out on receiving something very special as we could have watched God transform their lives from up close. How much better to participate in His plan and know the joy of being there when the Light comes on for someone we care about!

If we already go beyond the Walls and reach people ... and we are tempted to congratulate ourselves for that, I quote Don Fransisco here (from the ballad of Baalam, about 1978 or so) -
"God's the one who makes the choice of the instrument He's usin' -
We don't know the reasons or the plans behind His choosin'.
So when the Lord starts a-usin' you, don't you pay it any mind -
He coulda used the dog next door if He'd-a been so inclined."