Living With The Effects Of An Abusive Family
Part 2
We are talking about a 250 lb. 6’3” grown man compared to a 100 lb. girl. I was already at such an emotional low in my life, how could I possibly think there was someone who would help me get out? One of my brothers got a towel and started cleaning up the blood off the floor. My other brother had already left with my baby and stayed in his room until it was over. (again, their roles being played out) After the crazy wore off my dad, he went outside to light up his cigarette, and my mother told me to go take a shower because I “wasn’t presentable” to be seen. I agreed I needed to get up off the floor, but the coldness of her words stung. There I was covered in blood and zero empathy for what just happened, again.
Her words weren’t a surprise though because it was her normal reaction when these things would happen. It was just another direction I had to follow. She has always been very removed and distant. My mother has never told me she loves me. She has never given me a hug or showed any type of loving affection. Even to this day, I don’t know what hurts worse, the fact that my dad takes out his anger and crushes my spirit, or my mother’s withdrawal of any love, empathy, or affection?
I knew I was on my own and finding myself once again having to figure out what I was going to do. Shortly after I was sent to shower, my mother called “another man” to come over and talk to my dad. There was only one other time my mother had called this 4′ 11” individual and it happened to be after a different assault that my dad inflicted upon me. She made sure that I understood to stay in the basement while this person was there. I already felt humiliated and I was conditioned to stay away from people after my father would black my eyes or bruise my face. And I definitely couldn’t tell my grandparents. We were continually told it would make my dad look bad if we did. Therefore, empathy from anyone was non-existent, so why would I have thought any differently about what this other man was going to say if he had seen the results of my face? The only other time this non-intimidating, short man came to our home was not a positive encounter. The very first thing he told me when he walked into my bedroom was and I quote, “You really know how to push your dad’s buttons don’t you?” That man never talked to me about what had happened nor did he ask; he only heard my dad’s version and those were the words he chose to say. That particular night my dad put his hands around my throat, pushed me up on the wall into a choke hold, and then threw me down a flight of stairs. I had bruises, but no blood. Why would I trust that the short man was there to help me? I had no other frame of reference for any other kind of life than the one I was living. For him to come to my room and the first thing out of his mouth was that statement, is not only ignorant of how to treat victims of violence in the home, but completely inappropriate.
To make matters more complicated, this man was a pastor. I am fairly positive the Bible says, “Father’s do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4) You can see why children become angry towards God when men of the church have that kind of approach to dealing with alcohol and anger in the father.
At a later time, my mother told me this pastor said that my father should apologize, and if it happened again, he would have to leave our family and go to an anger management class. My father did none of those things. I knew that my mother did not tell the entire truth of what had really taken place that night. The pastor never asked to speak to me or to see me that night. The blood in the kitchen had already been cleaned up by the time he arrived. In my generation, and especially in my family, the police were never an option as intervention or a way of help. My mother only had us memorize our grandma’s phone number if we ever needed anything while mother would be out of town for work.
The next day I laid in bed a lot. My bedroom was in the basement and I never came upstairs to eat that day. Hunger pains were the least of my worries. My body ached elsewhere. I just kept to myself trying to figure out what I was going to do. I had a little girl to care for and protect from the craziness around me. I didn’t think I could take much more, especially thinking she may be next. I knew I couldn’t go anywhere with my face looking like it did and my parents banked on me feeling the shame of that. When my mother came home after work, she came downstairs and told me I would have to leave because my dad and I fight too much, and that she didn’t want the disruption in her life. It was a very familiar comment that I had heard so many times before. (I knew she wouldn’t tell my dad to leave because she needed his income to pay his part of the bills. I thought about how I could bring more income in so I could stay with my brothers. I didn’t want to leave them.) Regardless, it would have been nice to hear words of comfort like, “How are you doing? How do you feel? Can I get you anything? Ibuprofen?” But nothing. Not anything to give me any indication that I was important enough to care about. I was solely alone, alone to find my way in life, alone to figure out what was so wrong with me that I deserved this, alone with no one to talk to, and alone with the feelings I tried to process.
As in the past, I was sent to go stay in my mother’s parent’s basement for a few weeks until my mother decided what was next. I look back and think about the tragedy of all the times that my dad got away with the abuse that occurred much too often, my mother who allowed it, who silenced my voice to be heard, and manipulated us our whole lives to think what we experienced was normal and deserved.
As I got ready to leave for my grandparent’s house, my mother told me that a lady from our church (we will call her Debbie) left a note for me in the kitchen. She had already “heard” the news and in that note she felt the need to tell me her life story, and how she thought it was best that I needed to be obedient to my parents. In that moment, I wished she were looking at the effects on my swollen face and body of what she called disobedience, because she may have had a different response. My mother is really good at impression management and Debbie’s note was just another example to what was already so confusing to me. It reiterated how no one heard the truth, that my mother’s version would always be heard first and believed, and how devalued I was through humiliating experiences. Why was no one asking me what happened? Was my mother that good of a story teller to leave out crucial details and then twist it to where somehow my broken face was justified?
Toxic parents associate children sticking up for themselves against their abuse as disobedience. This is the root of self-betrayal. We learn that in order to be loved and to survive, we had to be loyal to our toxic family system at the expense of loyalty to ourselves.
The control that my parents had over me was so oppressive it is disgusting to think how voiceless I was. I was without an advocate and hopeless.
It couldn’t have gotten any worse right? As divine intervention would have it, my 19 year old self left with my daughter and note in hand, and I was shielded from ever having to live there again. I no longer could tolerate being my parent’s scapegoat. Looking back, I should have let others see the effects of abuse instead of concealing it. I agreed with my mother and didn’t want anyone to be angry at my dad for what he had done. I was still protecting both of them. Abuse is a sickness that spreads like a nasty disease and it ruins so many lives.
On a side note, my aunt told me a few weeks after that my dad had not been drinking; he just came home angry for reasons unknown. Typically, my extended family would make one sentence statements and leave it in my lap, like it had already been scripted for them. For them to make sense of it all and puke it back out to me must have been a way for them to process and justify his behavior. It was an all too familiar scene of “no one cares.”
Isn’t it interesting that some people in dysfunctional families choose to stay in the system to keep the peace and others choose to run as far away as possible to actually live in peace?
I have never been one to pretend that I have had it all figured out or have had all the answers to life’s questions. But what I do find value in is being joyful. I want peace and harmony in my life. I do not want to be a part of nonsense and chaos. I want to suffer well and share how God has helped me endure the hard things. I want to continue to be grateful for all of the good things in my life. I am a girl that thrives on authenticity which is why it is important to me to express the joys of life and the hardships in the same breath. I want to be an encouragement to someone else. I want others to understand, that have endured difficult circumstances, that walking in freedom is a choice. Sure, I have times where there are struggles and I may never understand why I had to experience them. Some days it is really tough to minister to others’ needs because it can be difficult to tell people “It’s going to be okay” or “Just have faith.” There are times when all I have is a little bit of faith to stand on because no matter how many times I want to deny some of these hurts, it is still there waiting on me to deal with… and at times that seems unjust.
Aside from when my parents raised their hands against us, when they fought with each other these are some of the effects that I experienced:
- Being clingy
- Low self-worth
- Felt helpless
- Insecurities
- Felt lost and directionless
- Felt tons of guilt and shame
- Lack of self-control
- I was embarrassed to have friends meet my parents
- It scared me watching my brothers become angry, aggressive, and physically fight on a daily basis
- I became very fearful of my future
- My brothers and I cried a lot and I never understood why I was so sad
One of the most important things I learned through some of these tests and trials are from Peter, when Jesus told him that Satan wanted to sift him as wheat. (Luke 22) But Jesus prayed for him that his faith would not fail. Peter would fail, but came back even stronger from that test so he was able to strengthen those around him. I may never see the explanation of why I suffered as much as I have, but what I do know is my tears may just be used to water someone else’s garden. The silver and gold that my suffering earns is often deposited into someone else’s account. I did sign up for Jesus. How am I to minister to people who are hurting if I didn’t walk through some trials myself? What God permits in my life, He will have it covered by intersession. People need real. They need transparency. They need someone with a heart to come alongside them with understanding. They need Truth. They do not need an attitude of arrogance because none of us have arrived. So, I learned… what is permitted by God, is also protected by God.
I am not dismissing the pain associated with facing the afflictions of past hurts. The reality is, it does affect me at times because it has shaped a part of who I am today. But I thank God every day that my life no longer revolves around the hurt, but on those hard days when Satan likes to sift me, I smile knowing Who has already won. He knows his time is short. Each year that passes, I do see God’s hand guiding and clearing the path He has set before me and my growing little family. I see clarity in scripture pertaining to my circumstances because I now have a heavenly perspective that wasn’t there before. I see the purpose in the suffering I have endured, and today I have the courage to stand alone in front of the flames to say, “Even if God doesn’t heal the relationship between my mother and me, I still will never bow to sin.” I may be discouraged from time to time, but the measure of success is how fast I can get back in the saddle. That destination He has for me is too important to lose myself in the process of having a man pleasing spirit (in my case, a mother-pleasing spirit.)
No circumstance will change who I am in Christ. Not the hurts and not the pain. This hard thing I face can not be the deciding factor of my joy. Sure, that is easy to say when my days are pleasant and peaceful, but I have to remind myself on those wearisome days where my strength comes from. I want any sorrow I feel in my heart to be well with my soul. Whatever the pain or joy-killer, God will always use it to bring us to a place that reflects Christ’s character. Even when it feels easy to give up, I have to endure, for my sake and for my children. I know He is able and bigger than any sorrow I will ever go through in this lifetime. My Hope is in Him alone, not in any false hope of a relationship that may never be.
This journey has been a process for me. Life got harder before it got any better, but it is where I met Jesus. I do not believe it should take events of trauma in our lives for us to be so broken that we come to know Christ that way, but none the less, that is what God allowed during my formative years.
Remember, there is freedom in standing for Truth and I know my battle isn’t with any human being. It lies with the great destroyer of Truth. He is my adversary, and is in the business of destruction and dissension among families. Anchoring my feet in the Word of God for my guidance and deliverance was imperative for my healing to occur. Satan knows his time is limited and if he can take anyone down with him, he will try. I rejoice in the fact that he no longer has any power over me. All of the things I have seen or experienced have been a spiritual battle and that is how we need to see all struggles we have in life.
I am so grateful that He has saved me from bearing those burdens that weren’t mine to carry.
Ephesians 6:12
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
Natalie
UPDATE:
Over the past decade, we have had numerous responses from Natalie’s post on Living With the Effects of Abuse. I am so thankful that so many of you have the courage to reach out for help. I have had first-hand knowledge of how difficult it has been for Natalie to come forward and share just a few stories of her experience. Opening your heart in a safe place will help the healing process and possibly lift a burden that someone else may be carrying as well. Everyone heals differently and it is a process. I encourage you to take one day at a time. It is very important to remember there is sin in secrecy and exposing darkness with Light has to take place if Jesus is to heal those hurts.
The good news is there is always hope and nothing is too far out of God’s reach. God has not abandoned you. Any pain that you have had, He has experienced too. He has been misrepresented, beaten, slandered, falsely accused, abandoned by loved ones, and ultimately crucified.
I have provided a link here for any of you that need a biblical perspective on how to move forward from here on out. This is a difficult subject for most of us when we are still hurting and continue to be thrown back into a cycle that we would prefer not to be a part of. I encourage you to listen to this sermon by Charles Swindoll. It is part of a series on the life of Joseph. I also have written an article here on family dysfunction if you would like to read that. If Natalie and I can help in any other way please let us know. We love hearing good reports of moving forward in your healing journey. Praise God He has made a way for us.
Jason