I am very pleased to welcome my guest writer today. She is one of the most beautiful woman-survivors I have the great priviledge of knowing. It honors me that she includes me in her life and shares her writing with the world. Her words have impacted me profoundly – over and over – with their power and simplicity. I appreciate her willingness to share the experiences of her past and to help me speak out about abuse.
I don’t like The Word. It’s for someone on the news. Not me. It’s for someone I can pray for from a distance. Not me. It’s full of awful sadness and an image of brokenness I don’t (want to) resemble. It is not my word. I just got in the way…
Of his flat hand, following an angry heart, slamming against my head over and over. I could have said less but I would be damned if I was not going to speak out against the lies, speak up for my truth, speak an invisible knife I hoped would slice him clean through for daring to treat me as anything but a noble, beautiful child entrusted to his care.
After the storm passes, after I have escaped behind a locked door, after he has driven away to cool off for a while, after we are back to a calmer daily life, he tries to dismiss what has occurred, again. “You’re not abused, you don’t have to deal with anything close to what I went through. I got beat every night by a raging drunk.”
NOT MY PROBLEM DAD. An explosion every three months is plenty to scar:
my trust in people in my life now who would never hurt me
my emotions until I began to say,
“Yes, it is my word. With a capital A. I was physically and emotionally Abused and I am healing. My dad’s angry words are not my truth. I do have worth, it is good that I was born. I am a child of God, entrusted to His care. I was Abused, and with God’s help, I am healing.”