Regret. Sadness.
Trauma. Crying out to Jesus. As I sit here today, I wish I had started
writing about this journey sooner. I wish
I had documented my growth in a bit more of a clearly designed blogging process
so I could look back on it in awe of how far I’ve come. Nonetheless, I’ve got to start somewhere.
All of this said, however, with the
beauty of our modern world I unknowingly recorded the last two years in another
way. Deeper than the world of Facebook
and Instagram is a truthful documentation of my last 3+ years by way of iPhone
camera roll. The photos I don’t share
with the world remain in my phone, in the cloud. 15,717 photos, to be exact. Snap shots of sad eyes, of confident smiles,
of relaxed embraces, of a dancing and singing child, of a home unkempt, of
adventures to pass the days, of text messages shared, of people that no longer
exist in my life, of people that never left.
Experience: the intimate version.
I often look back at these photos inadvertently, or with purpose, and there’s
no telling what I’ll come across, when I’m simply looking for an old photo of
Blakely or trying to figure out the month I started dating someone. I catch glimpse of a shorter haired, golden
curled, blue-eyed version of my own creation.
I am struck by the sadness in my eyes.
I look longingly at my long hair, long gone. On other days I come to a series of screen
shots from messages between a man I once loved and a more naïve but ever-growing
version of myself, and on more days than not I am happy I let go now, instead of
cripplingly devastated.
So today while I was walking to
lunch I was looking for a photo in the mile long camera roll, and came across
one of my daughter that I couldn’t remember taking. It was taken in the last year, so it was
notable to me that I couldn’t remember. I
studied the photo and couldn’t get over how beautiful she looks. I love her cheeks. I love the way her curls sat on her
shoulders, the most genuine of huge smiles and the part in her perfect little
baby teeth before she recently lost them.
Ah. Here comes that twinge in my stomach. This sweet image conjures another memory, one
of trauma that she’s faced. I hate that
these thoughts invade my head as I’m admiring what a beautiful soul she
is. I hate that a cloud of darkness
slowly creeps over my soul, my demeanor, visibly across my eyes. Sometimes it is all I can do to not sob in
the middle of an ordinary day. Instead
of encouraging her to wiggle them or letting them fall out on her own, her
father has taken to yanking them out when she goes to his house and he catches wind of a loose tooth. She tells me they’re loose and then she
reminds herself she won’t tell daddy, because we know what will happen. It reminds me that he cuts her toenails
trying to be helpful, but so short they’re red and bleeding. I ask him gently to please not continue this
practice. I ask him gently to please let
me handle toe and finger clippings. I plead
with him gently to not inflict the pain on her that he holds bottled up in his
heart. She grows more and more immune to
the pain she experienced and based on the research I’ve done, the pain is parallel
to violence, and as children grow immune to pain, they also grow immune to
violence. They grow immune because they are resilient and they have to in order to cope, and in turn it threatens dysfunction in their future. Dysfunction, an awful cycle of dysfunction. I am afraid that she will deal
with her trauma with pain as she grows older.
That she will mutilate her body, bathe herself in hateful self-talk,
take her feelings out on others physically, put herself in dangerous
relationships and scenarios as she grows older.
It reminds me that I have to get her counseling appointment scheduled
and while doing that… I also need to schedule one for myself.
See, I am long overdue for some counseling, again. Employer health plans reach their limits and finding the means to pay for therapy becomes a priority that slowly trickles to the bottom, beneath food, housing, gas and the occasional day of fun. I think Blakely and I deserve that with what we've been through, as a sort of counteraction to the daily pains we've endured. I am long overdue to dump my
life of pain and trauma on a professional’s lap and let them help me sort
through it. To let them help me cope.
I am long overdue for validation that the work I’ve put into my self-growth
and the lessons and boundaries I’ve taken from it are absolutely okay,
acceptable, correct and in the best interest of my child and myself. I am long overdue for professional therapy at
the level I deserve. Furthermore, as I
write today, the healing, coping and sorting to be done will be a life-long
process for me and I want to take advantage of the new tools I have access to in
order to minimize the level of healing, coping and sorting my daughter will
have to do for the rest of her life. I want
her to put her energy into healthy outlets and use them to prevent further
damage, not to mend her brokenness that she might not be able to overcome. Nothing
is guaranteed. And she is precious cargo
that God has bestowed upon me to take motherly care of for the rest of my life.
It is only in this love for Blakely, that I have been able
to reach into the darkest and most unseen depths of myself in order to rally
the courage and stamina to keep going every day. Trauma causes a warped sense of self. It causes depression and anxiety. It causes fear. I have lived in daily fear for the last two years. And it is this love for and of my daughter that
has shown me scale as to the love Jesus must have for me! It is this love that has fueled a
fire within my soul to recognize the eternal fire that Jesus burns in our hearts
and that makes us capable of overcoming and accomplishing anything we can
fathom. It is this love that I feel when
I’m sitting in church listening to music and hearing the words of wise Pastor Rachel
pour God’s word over me. I have taken the
effective messages and a presence I cannot put into words toward an
understanding of God’s love that is invaluable and irreplaceable to me. This love is all I have needed in order to
dig deep within my times of struggle and need. I have used that love, that fire, to think
hard, to pray with persistent faith, to talk to Jesus when I couldn’t bear
another day of sadness as heavy as the world on my shoulders. I have talked it out with Jesus, I have cried
it out with Jesus, I have sang it out with Jesus. I have seen Jesus in the form
of friends that have never left my side.
I have seen Jesus in my oldest best friend from preschool. I have seen Jesus in single moms I work with
that offer sympathy, support, advice, drinks and hugs. I have seen Jesus in a gracious cup of
coffee. I have seen Him in
forgiveness. I have seen Him in a lawyer
that isn’t out to make money, but to actually help mend family brokenness. I
have seen Him in non-judgmental eyes at food pantries. I have seen Him in loans or gifts from
friends. I have seen Him in friends from
high school that I may only see once a year, but with whom I will always share a bond that doesn't change in value. I have seen His
love in children as the hope of this world.
I have seen Jesus as my demons stared me down and stood in my path and
demanded being fought to their death before I could move forward. I have seen Jesus in a court room waiting area
as I was told that my baby girl was being advocated for and that there was hope
where I once thought I could give up and die. I have seen Jesus and I have no
pride left. There is no pride in my
vulnerable soul and I long to cover anyone accepting with the love He produces
freely in my soul.
So as I come to, I stand firm and
tall in the notion that I am diamond strong.
There is no wall around me. There
is no pride in that notion. It is just a
fact. I have been made strong by love. I am a person of value despite what others
may think. I defend myself against those
that go against me because I will not let the sadness they exhibit influence my
life. They strike with hurtful blows. But
the hurt anyone has caused in my or my daughter’s lives is ineffective thanks
to the validation that Jesus Christ gives me.
I cast away their opinions as I blink my eyes and toss my hair. (check my nails, baby how you doing? I’m fine
as hell…) I care what no one thinks except
for the ultimate judge. I am in this
place because I have been to hell and back and I know what matters to me. I am just about to hit another ball out of the
park. I am in my stance and tightening
my grip to swing. I am ready to turn corners. I will take care of me
and mine in the order I see fit and in the order that benefits myself and Blakely
before I take care of things that are of lesser priority. It will take time, because I am not an
uninhibited infinitely flowing fountain of means required to do so, and for
that I will not apologize. I won’t apologize
for someone else’s impatience. I won’t
apologize for someone else’s flaws. I
will live my life graciously and carry on.
I love my daughter, and she has helped me consistently recognize Jesus’s
love. I love Jesus because he sacrificed
his life for me. He did that because
spirit is bigger than this tangible world, and in this world, we need hope that
there is a greater good. I carry on
because Jesus loves me and I will grow my love for myself and others always.
As I look through my camera roll, the 15,717 images, I’m
gifted with a visual reminder of what Blakely and I have worked through. I am gifted with the fight in her that gave
way to the fight within me. I look at my
favorite shirt or her moto jacket, or the velvet cat ears she took from me and
made her own for months until they broke.
These photos remind me of conversations we had together about the types
of jackets she has and why they’re called what they are. Conversations that turned into her
imagination blossoming over style picks and adventures to be had with
friends. Fighting crime and running wild
with wolves. I work toward focusing on
the good times and the good in every visual, and I’m constructing a place in my
mind to draw from when the dark clouds come rolling in. That time was hard. That time hurt. I cried.
I slept. I yelled. But I am not stuck under that cloud and I
overcame.
I am a blessing to myself and my
child. I will believe it. I will nurture it. I will grow it. Amen.
