The little Girl Who Wasn’t

She wasn’t wanted, she wasn’t loved

 (Or if she was no one remembered to tell her; to show her).

Once she thought she was….

And she would laugh and go to meet her daddy in the evening.

But then a stranger came and took her daddy’s place.

(Does it matter if he looked the same or not?)

Soon she learned to hide in the evening time.

Soon she learned that little girls are only safe when no one but God is around.

(Does God even want me?)

So soon she learned that little girls must not exist, if they will survive.

(And somehow she will survive.)

So the years went by and the little girl who wasn’t became

A woman who couldn’t live; because she was lost in the tower of survival.

The little girl who wasn’t became a stranger to herself….

Deep inside the tower walls still lived the little girl who once was,

The little girl who dared to hope in hope.

(Not quite brave enough to hope in life itself.)

 One day Life came to love her…and love her…and love her.

Then the tower fell down, and

A still frightened, but hopeful little girl came out.

The little girl who wasn’t became the little girl who is….

And the little girl who is became

The daughter of Life.

(Copyright April 2013, PG Morrison. Not to be copied without permission)

The Last Husband

img_20190111_113019 The faded flowers of bouquets sent as a peace offering are now merely tattered remnants of empty apologies

 

 

The bridal suite was exquisite, the adjourning bath with jacuzzi enviable. My Mary Kay bridesmaid attentively and artistically created a beautiful portrait of my then young face. The hairdresser created a beautiful hairdo, weaving together a creation worthy of a princess. That is how  I felt that day. Like a princess. Hopeful that the hard life behind me was just that, behind me. Faded like a distorted photograph of a former life.

Close friends came and went, oohing and aahing over the gorgeous fit-for-a- princess wedding dress, the expensive wedding suite, all the amenities that came with it, such as the luxurious bathroom equipt with a jacuzzi.

I was a nervous bride. I was trying hard not to be irritable, not wanting to be a  Bridezilla. I was supposed to be full of joy, wasn’t I? Wasn’t this suppose to be my day, the day of joy, celebrating finally finding the right man for me? The man I would spend the rest of my life with? So, why the deep sense of impending doom? “What is wrong with me” I kept wondering.

Looking back, I realize that the God-given gut instincts were at play… the instincts that I wanted so desperately to ignore, could not be ignored.  Those red flags that I ignored while engaged to be married to this man; all ignored. After all, everyone loved him, approved of him, encouraged me to walk through the rest of my life with him.

Not trusting myself, I trusted others. Some of those that I trusted were the annoying ones coming in and out of the bridal suite that fateful day…

Today, nine years later, we are divorced. Five years ago, it was final…Today, I struggle picking up the pieces of the shattered illusionary dream of wedded bliss, forever after, growing old together, walking on the Florida beaches in retirement, holding my Lovers hand…

this is what I would write to him today in a letter if I could…

To My Last Husband,

I still miss you…I miss us…the us I thought was the reality. I do not blame you for everything, it takes two. I have to own my part in it…I ignored my God given gut instinct. I could not hang in there while you figured out that you were an abuser and that the therapist was actually colluding with you. I could not stray while I was being destroyed physically and emotionally by the gaslighting and the verbal bullying. I tried, I kept leaving and I kept coming back, believing that this time it would be better, this time we can make it work.

 

Yes, I had a part in our mess. I kept trusting that you would get it, that you would make us safe again. But, you chose the colluding therapists, you chose to keep playing the game. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. All the accusations that I was the abuser threw me off, I started to believe you. I did not know that standing up for myself and reacting with outrage toward you was not abuse. I started to believe you and the colluding fly monkeys, that there was something wrong with me…that I was mentally deranged. delusional was the word you loved to say about me. After all, wasn’t me, as you loved to point out, that was on medication. You, being a very intelligent pharmacist, knew all about my medications. You feigned being so concerned about my welling being that you wanted to come to all my appointments and tell them how concerned you were.  I now realized what you were up to. My therapists told me you called them to let them know all my behaviors and how concerned you were about me. You were so good at manipulating that even the male therapist that worked in the local men’s battering program was almost convinced that it was me who was doing the abusing.

I could go on and on about all the things that came to light after I entered into the local Domestic Violence Shelter. I could write a book about the short time we were married. The 12 step inventory I found with the handwritten confession of all your abuse. Then the divorce papers with all the wonderful husbandly things you were still doing for me….yep, convincing. I had to laugh when I found out you were soliciting funds for the new housing program for victims of domestic violence while me, your wife, sat in a shelter for victims of domestic violence in order to save myself from complete mental breakdown from your abuse. The irony of it…

I miss my beloved Jack Russell Terrier. I must say, if I had been treated as well as you treated my dog, I would not have had to flee from your house. Yes, your house, After all, you reminded me quite a few times that it was your house. You never put my name on anything. You controlled everything.

I sit in poverty now. On disability. The trauma almost destroyed me completely. Funny, I sit here thinking back on our early days. I remember sitting in my living room, you across the room, so innocent, like the good Catholic man you portrayed yourself to be, saying “Poor poor baby, you have been through so much. You will never have to work again, you can heal from all the trauma of your past. You can write another book, go back to college, finish your degree,, take art classes, you can go to spas and have manicures and pedicures and just be pampered.

I am sure that you meant it.

However, after our extravagant honeymoon in Key West, where I was treated like a royal princess, things changed. Drastically. No longer were even interested in spending time with me. Suddenly, we were like strangers sharing a house. I felt uninvited, like an intruder. I had no idea the darkness that resided in that house your grandfather built I had no idea that your grandmother invited gypsy tea leaf readers that and had rented to a witch. I had no idea that you saw what you called gremlins. I had no idea that you also saw hooded creatures lurking at night around your bed. No. I had no clue that I had no clue. I didn’t know that I didn’t know about the darkened world of the occult. It almost convinced me to kill myself.

Thank you for the letter you sent to my parents admitting that you abused me causing me to leave you…so sad that my father still didn’t get it, nor my brother either, but, what could I expect from them, after all, they sure did their share of abusing me when I was growing up. They liked you and thought I was the abuser, they believed you above me. You sure were good with getting folks to collude with you and be your flying monkeys. Dad always said birds of a feather flock together. Maybe that is why the churches are so toxic.

I am grateful for the time I had with you. Even though at this point in my life, I will most likely not complete the college degree I at one time pursued, I have a Ph.D in narcissistic abuse syndrome, domestic abuse, and narcissism. Although at times  I truly did not want to go on living, Creator has a purpose in mind for my life. I lived to tell my story. You are only part of that story I lived to tell and an education that most will never have.

I am grateful for my time with you because I learned these following things:

Money does not buy happiness. Botox and fillers do not make a wife more attractive and cannot compete with addiction to the illusionary world of porn. Your porn problems were there before I ever came along. Your gambling addiction was there before I came along. Just because a person is sitting in 12 step meetings for years and not drink or use illegal drugs does not equate true recovery. I learned that narcissists fool most everyone, even experts. Most believers are clueless about domestic abuse, therefore will re-victimize the victim due to their chosen ignorance. I learned who my real friends are. Living the high life using credit cards can be a sign of gambling addiction.  I learned that abuse can be part of a person’s gambling addiction. I learned that you are a very broken person using the only coping mechanisms you know. I learned that we are all broken children in need of His healing power.  I learned that marriage is a serious covenant and that most of us do not understand what marriage is.  I learned not to believe people just because they verbalize a profession of faith in  Christ. I learned that I need to love myself and listen to what my God-given instincts are saying and not listen to humans that are so easily fooled by master manipulators. I learned to trust my Creator. I learned that I am very valuable and you were not worthy of me. I learned that Yeshua is my real husband and that He is my Provider, Healer, and Protector.

 

 

The Pink Room

My heart at times, becomes heavy, full of turmoil. As I strive to become His pure Bride, periodically suffering surfaces. This world is like a heavy weapon against His grace, pounding my head with shameful thoughts; dredging up my failures, my hopes and dreams that are now, at 56, seemingly impossible to achieve.

Shame still tries to raise its ugly head. As I listen to lectures on Adult Children of Alcoholic/Dysfunctional Families, it’s so clear to me how ingrained this insidiousness has permeated every nook and cranny of my life, bringing a stench of rot with it. It’s destructive force overcame all attempts of mine to outrun it, to break if off me. My endeavors to outsmart it by arming myself with knowledge of the family disease has me defeated. The vast knowledge I have accumulated on Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder gives me insight into the nightmares, depression, hyper-vigilance to name just of few symptoms of C-PTSD. All the money spent on various therapists, too many to list, defied my power, enabling It to destroy yet another generation. My dear son, my oldest, at the tender age of 23, succumbed to his own demons of destruction when death caught him in its grasp far too early.

This inherited sickness still, in some ways, permeates the very fiber of my being. Still I am attracting narcissistic men. I even see its ugly traits in myself and wonder if it’s what is keeping me from overcoming the inner “ick”. Bring raised by a selfish, overgrown abusive bully has left its scar tissue deeply embedded within my soul. Behavior patterns are deeply entrenched in my brain. I continue the hard work of renewing my mind into the mind of Christ. “Progress not perfection,” as said in the healing rooms of various 12 step meetings.

Intellect does not save one. Years of various types of therapy, a college degree in Chemical Dependency Counseling with credentials and extensive research pertaining to healing from addictions and all forms of abuse, both obvious and hidden. I have also spent countless hours viewing You Tube lectures looking for answers on these destructive conditions, and yet I still feel so frustrated and empty. My head totally gets it, and I can use my knowledge to help others heal, but my heart is still broken.

Since being a young child I have sought my fathers’ love, approval, validation, adoration and protection. As an adult I have attended an Ivy league college, become a published writer, obtained professional credentials, and become an accomplished woman . Nothing I have done has been able to gain his approval. I still yearn to hear affirming words validating my worthiness for love and adoration from him.

I have heard it said many times: one cannot give to their children what was never given to them. Hence the deficits in the loving department.The shamed shame. The rejected reject. The abused abuse. The shame is insidious and unquenchable – toxic and so hard to heal. It only heals in relationships with healthy, loving, affirming people.

Praying and crying out to God has been the way of healing and restoration for me. I have a love relationship with my Redeemer. I cling to Him, hoping someday to escape this insane evil plot against humankind.

At times I am so lonely it hurts. I feel an ache in my heart, a yearning in my soul for connection, laughter, fellowship.

I think to myself, This is why people go to bars. They are so vulnerable to being picked up by unsavory characters; falling for the age old pick up lines like , “Where have you been all my life?” and other wonderful sounding, captivating entrapment lines.

This is why people escaping abusive relationships often return to the abuser. Loneliness. Emptiness. Shame. Feeling of being such a loser.

Regarding loneliness…flashback to myself as a little girl, the lost child, retreating to the safety of my pink painted room. Sanctuary. Retreat. My own sacred space. Pink for girl. Pink for softness for a precious little girl. My mother labored over that room; carefully selecting curtains to match the soft pink walls. She was so proud of her efforts to camouflage my fathers junk stored in my sacred space.

That room was supposed to my safety zone, instead it turned into a torture chamber. No doors were hung, but merely curtains to block the view of whether I was “decent” or not as my father would always asked before entering. His hobby room was off from my sacred space. The man that scared me so asked me permission to enter into my sacred pink room in order to enter his man cave. Little did I know he had a hidden stash of porn in his man cave.

Demons of lust abode in that room, right next door. Demons of anger, rage and shame manifested there also, in my supposed sanctuary, on a regular time frame. Sunday night my parents went bowling, leaving me in the house with my abusive brothers.The precious little girl, at the mercy of the cruel brothers. Sunday nights were torment nights. As their abuse began in the living room, I tried to ignore them as much as possible by staring at the television, rocking my body back and forth in an attempt to comfort my terrified self. I tried so hard to ignore them as they surrounded my chair, taunting me, threatening me, accusing me of whatever their evil minds could conjure up.

As the vicious momentum reached an overwhelming level of terror I could no longer tolerate, I fled to pseudo safety. They pursed me with their evil surmising . My father, being the typical Adult Child of an Alcoholic/Dysfunctional Family did not complete the remodeling job he set out to do eons ago. Still I had no doors hung on my doorway, therefore there was no lock to ensure my safety. Regular beatings took place in my pink torture chamber. That is where I learned to take beatings, emotional, physical and sexual. This is where I learned to tolerate the intolerable. As my mother has said for years “You are a glutton for punishment”. “I wonder where I learned that, ma?!”

Today, as an adult, in my periodic times of feeling that loneliness, those demons of shame, resentment, bitterness and un-forgiveness still try beckoning me to acknowledge their presence, their right to continue to torment me. In prayer, I seek my Savior and Deliverer to fill those lonely places. ( I invite the Father to protect me from anymore unsavory characters to take up residence in my haven of rest in the here and now.)

I have been lonely in my marriages. It is ironic that the last two husbands were so much like my brothers in terms of verbal, not physical abuse. The generational crazies began again…as these professed Christian men set out to character assassinate me with their mouths, I fled to the sacred space of my bedroom. Attempting to detach from their demon-like shrieking, they, in turn, came at me with their verbal assaults upon my soul, and they, like my brothers, violated my boundaries, entering into my sacred space to continue their tormenting accusations, bullying and projecting their own sins onto me.

I am grateful that I was able to flee those habitations of demons by the grace of my Heavenly Father. I would rather endure this kind of loneliness than be in another loveless abusive marriage. Today, my bedroom is not pink, it is not invaded by any man, abusive or otherwise. It is indeed my quiet, sacred space where I can relax into deep slumber, knowing that I will not be harmed.

This is not what the Creator designed marriage and family for. The enemy of mankind fuels generational sins of abuse to torment the souls of humankind. Our Creator gave us boundaries and guidelines found in the Scriptures. Although my mother tried to raise us in the fear of the Lord,my father was not a believer. He and my mother both grew up in abusive homes, they were both abused in various ways, they were both abandoned by parents. They were both raised with alcoholic families. This way of child rearing has profound impact on the next generation. The scriptures talk of the sins of the fathers being visited upon the next generation. When and if we, individually and as a family return to our Creator and follow His ways, He will forgive and heal our families and our land. 2 Chronicles 7:14. Also see Exodus chapter 20. The whole of the Torah instructs His children how to love Him, and love our neighbor as we love ourselves.

Shedding Snake Skins

 

Garden snakes were hunted down and killed, funerals were then held by my brothers and I. We were just bored kids living way out in the sticks…bored and needed some entertainment. All of us were fascinated in a very morbid way with the well just outside of our house. Snakes slithered there, in and out of that well where we obtained our drinking water. Occasionally pieces of snake skins would appear floating in the glass of water as it was poured out from the kitchen faucet. My father would then begrudgingly trudge out to the well with a container of bleach to disinfect the drinking water.

I thought that was just the way it was, even though somehow within my being I knew that something was not right.

I grew up with those garden snake varieties. In my neck of the woods we didn’t have poisonous snakes…so, we were never taught how to recognize different types of snakes, where they dwelled, their behaviors or the antidote if one happened to get bit.

That’s just the way I grew up. My brothers killed the snakes and I watched, cringing as the victimized snakes agonizingly writhed in the throes of death. We then had funeral processions, walking them to the creek for burial in a watery grave. We sang hymns that we learned while attending church with our mother. We were solomn faced and dead serious, no pun intended!

As a youngster, my father took the whole family on vacation. We drove thousands of miles across country to the great western states. In Arizona, as we stepped outside of our old station wagon, father cautioned us about rattlesnakes that hid under rocks. He informed us that they would rattle thier tails if they felt thrreatened. If the warning was not heeded, then they would strike, sinking their sharp fangs into ones legs. Their venom was deadly. One would die from their bites. “Pay close attention” he cautioned.

In different areas of the United States, varities of snakes are found. While residing in central Florida, I was appauled when I learned that right outside of the little trailer I lived in were deadly water moccasians. I would never had known if the neighbor had not bragged about shooting one with his gun. He saw the expression of shock on my face and proceeded to inform me of the snakes living in Florida. Water moccasins slithered right outside my door on the canal behind my residence.

At that time in my life, I was married to husband number three. I had yet to learn about Narcassism. I also was still ignorant about demonic possession and oppression. The church at large did not teach about such things. I had a great awareness about substance abuse. As a recovering addict I knew all about addiction first hand. I also had obtained a degree in Substance Abuse Counseling along with a credential as a substance abuse counselor. I had worked in a hospital as a therapist in a Unit for mentally ill and chemically addicted patients, therefore I knew about mental illness…in which my then husband suffered from. Bi Polar, chronic relapser, heroin addict. My own insight told me that was just surface stuff. The deeper stuff most therapists were not equipt to see let alone diagnose properly. (Narcissism, CPTSD and demon possession was not even considered.)

As with husband number two, he refused to get the help he really needed. He was a master manipulator who knew how to work people, even therapists. He met his match in me. I saw through him eventually. That marriage was short lived. I would not allow him to continue to sway me. When he kicked me out for the forth time so he could use drugs again, and have another affair, I never returned again. However, he did manage to continue to sway others and it cost them dearly. He is gone now, he died an agonizing death as a result of years of playing with the needle and not getting honest with the therapists about the underlying issues that plagued him, the very things that that turned him into a dangerous snake.

I came back to New York, still stunned by being bitten by his venom. It took quite a while for me to detox from that one. I went on with my life. I dated a man for a short time. It was a long distance relationship. When he came to visit, I saw the behaviors and broke that off before he could do any damage to me.
I stayed alone for quite a while. Then I met a man. Quiet. Gentle. A gentleman. Financially stable. Long term clean time. Very intelligent. Seemingly respectful to his mother and other women. A man that appeared to be seeking a relationship with his Creator.

. “Surely this one is what he professes to be” I thought to myself. Cautiously, I took him around all my friends and church family. They ALL oohed and ahhed over him. Being SO happy for me, they encouraged me to walk forward with this one. “Oh” they all exclaimed, “you have been through so much heart ache and pain in your life, you deserve to be loved and cherished. He is perfect for you, you won’t have to work so hard to provide for yourself now”. “What a gift from God” I heard. “Finally, a man that will treat you as your deserve” another proclaimed. Deep within me, some thing did not set well, but I listended to others, rather than my God given gut instincts. After all, my picker was broke, so I needed others to see things I could not. I needed snake detectors. They, too, were not trained to detect snake behavior.

He became husband number four.

We arrived at my new home after a two week honeymoon consisting of touring places in Florida such as Naples and Key West. In Naples he took me shopping at a very expensive high end store. I felt like a princess for the first time ever. As the sales lady took us around the store, she showed us all the designer clothing, all so beautiful and so very expensive. No matter to him. He sat while I modeled the clothes,the money he spent on me was outrageous. He sat in the chair in that high end store as if he were a king and I his princess bride. I thought I had finally put my horrid past behind me and now, “I am blessed with a husband that will truly love me and will cherish me.” I thought to myself. Relieved that the hard life was finally over, years of trauma, the death of my son, heartaches untold were finally over and now I could have a life full love.

It started to quickly unravel the first night back after the extravagant honeymoon. Strange behaviors were exhibited, but I tried to ignore them. I was ignored nightly. I sat alone night after night in HIS living room while he remained in the kitchen on the computer. Night after night. I was ignored completely, gone was the romance. As he was plastered to the computer nightly, I began to wonder if it was me, was I expecting too much? Why would a newly married man ignore his bride? Why would he not come to bed when I retired to the bedroom? I knew something was not right. And, I had a horrible feeling that I knew what was amiss.

When I found the porn I was broken beyond words. It was a repeat from the previous husband. Upon showing him why I was having an emotional melt down, his other side came out in full force. The verbal assault on my character left me numb and dumbfounded. All the things I had shared with him while dating came out of his mouth in such hurtful ways I was struck numb. All the horrible things I had suffered and shared with him while we were engaged became a weapon of destruction. All the wonderful qualities I possessed and he supposedly adored about me slowly were eroded by his evilness…This became his pattern of behavior. Twisted communication, assaults on my personhood, belittiling me, shaming me, intimidating me. Within four months I sought help from a therapist. I knew he had some very serious issues, therefore I invited him into a session with her. He became her client also. Very unethical and unprofessional on her part. However, at first I was just so happy he was seeing someone and getting help. He told her some of the things he was doing to me. She asked me how I handled it, I told her “I leave, I get into my car and I leave, I am not putting up with that bullshit after everything I have gone through in my life”. She then informed me that I was to stay and face the issues in my marriage, that I needed to stop running, that I had run all my life. (yea! with good reason!) That was a major red flag that she was incompetent and dangerous to my well being. The two colluded together. They spoke the same lingo. Snake in the grass…I was trying to survive and learn a new language. After two years he went to another so called counselor that he manipulated also. They were not trained to deal with snakes. They, too, were snake charmers. The male “therapist” also spoke snake language from the start. He, too, verbally assaulted me calling me a murderer because I stood up to the snake husband. Snakes do not like to be called out on their venomous biting behaviors…..

By the time the six year marriage was over, I was thoroughly toxic from the snake venom. It has taken me two years to detox. When there has been contact, it is the same twisting of words, the same gaslighting maneuvers discounting the abuse heaped on me. In his blame shifting he has the incredible stealth ways to make me look like the crazy one. Accusations of being borderline, delusional, crazy, all became the smoke and mirrors way of him convincing everyone that I was the abuser. Little did they know what the truth was. I even questioned my own sanity at times. if was not for websites like A Cry for Justice I would have gone through with the suicidal ideation.

You see, I was trained to be a snake charmer by my dear mother, who, also, was trained to handle snakes. We who grew up in snake pits understand snake behavior and become desensitized to it. Believing it is normal, we do not understand the spell we live under. We somehow become immune to the venom of their words, beatings, taunts, bullying. We build up an immunity to it, therefore, those looking on fail to understand we are under the mesmerizing dance of snakes like the King Cobra.

However, we humans were created to live in a different terrain than that of snakes. We were never intended to live in the snake pits or to be snake charmers. We are created for so much more.

I have had to educate myself on snake language, behaviors and its venomous effects. I cannot be around those that have bitten me in the past, as they know just what to say or do to manipulate me. I am no match for a hypnotizing snake.

Neither was Eve. The serpent in the garden deceitfully manipulated her into believing that if she just tried the fruit, she would become like God, knowing good and evil. Appealing to her God given role as ‘ezer kenegdo (Hebrew for help mate) as nourishers, guides and boundary-setters (Guardian Angel by Skip Moen D. Phil. pg11), he was crafty enough to know he needed to take her out first before going after Adam…then his masterful plan would be fulfilled. He knew just what to say to entice her to partake of the fruit, the very thing that Yahweh told Adam not to eat of. He knew if he could persuade her, her choice would give him power to control her world and that of Adam and future generations.

Today, we have a world full of snakes, and snake charmers. We have all been bitten and most do not know they are suffering from the numbing effects of the venom. Sitting in churches, synagogues, government, schools, various organizations, the spell continues. Some snakes devour other snakes.

A brood of vipers, as Yeshua called them. They are everywhere one goes. The only way out of the snake pit is to heed the voice of One calling out to you in the wilderness, in the desert, in the pits. Come out from among them He says. (2 Corinthians 6:17). The One calling out is Yahweh, the Creator. He never intended for any of His creation to be snake pit dwellers, snake charmers, or to remain numb from the effects of its mind numbing, life destroying venom . His blood is the only antidote. But one needs to recognize that they are in need of His cure for the mesmerizing, hypnotic effects of the bite of sin we are all under. (1 John 1:7)

No Looking Back

 As I looked in the mirror and saw the bunny trails returning, I thought “now what do I do about them” Those dreaded stinking bunny trials. When I got my last Botox injections, I knew it was only temporary, as with the fillers.  Only a temporary fix.  I told my husband and my anti-aging doctor I wanted the lifestyle lift.  It was more permanent than filler and injections and less invasive and expensive than a face lift. Less down time.  Made sense to me.   They both frowned.  So did I. I didn’t call the shots, the one with the money and the one with the needles did.

Here I am, in a shelter for women fleeing domestic abuse worrying about returning bunny trials….how stupid and superficial!  Three times I have left the destructive relationship, two times I have returned due to the financial situation…and dare I look back at the pleasures enjoyed?  The messages, the facials, the access to an anti-aging doctor, a good chiropractor`, manicures, pedicures.  A beautiful house, a house cleaner, good organic food.  Vacations, shopping sprees, what more could a woman want?

Reality.  Damage Control…Therapy, medications, stress so bad the chiropractic adjustments wouldn’t hold, the messages didn’t undo the layers of  knots in my shoulders, the manicures and pedicures were less than what I needed.  Botox and fillers couldn’t erase the added 10 years of aging in the less than 4 years of marriage.  I had to go back the The House.  No amount of exterior excursions could change the fact that I had to go back to The House. To The Abusive Husband.

As I looked at my traumatic chaotic life and the great losses, the Lord said, “do not look back”.  What? Was that You Lord?”  I was unsure. All through the day Lots wife came to my mind.  I pondered why she looked back as the Lord’s angel was delivering her and her family from destruction.  Did she, too, have a leisurely lifestyle and nice pretty clothes and a beautiful home?

I reviewed the reasons I returned to the relationship 2 times previously and also the outcomes of returning. There was no change in him thus no change in the marriage. Since returning from Florida the last time I left him I needed to take Xanax when I knew he was on his way home from the office. I took it on the weekends to keep calm around him.  Depression and anxiety were my everyday norms now. Did I want to continue living like this or was I willing to trust God and let Him lead me on a final Exodus journey into the life He wants me to live. 

This time there was no returning; no looking back. I was wasting my life on an illusion that my husband controlled.  When I pulled aside the illusion and tried to confront his fantasy world all hell broke loose.  I was the crazy one, I was the one on meds, I was the one that twisted things and abused him. I was the one playing the victim…well, no more!  I came to a decision…  No more games, no more lies, no more power and control over me. Enough was enough!

No looking back this time.  So let the bunnies run the trails on my aging face.  May I age gracefully free in the arms of the One who won my freedom.

Spiritual Widows and Orphans

“I’m here, send me!” That was roughly 20 years ago. He called me to tell the truth. I am called to be a truth teller. Like Edward Snowden, the infamous whistle blower, I pretty much lost everything. It costs much to follow Jeshua the Messiah. To tell the truth. It’s a lonely journey, with not many friends. Or people that get you…or why you are sharing so much of your dirty laundry. Why not just move on, forget the past, forgive and forget…

I can’t. Forgive and forget and move on. Forgive, yes, but, forget, sorry, I cannot do that. Move on, yes, I am moving on…at His leading…at His direction…at His beckoning.

I am called to tell the truth…A voice crying in the wilderness. There are other voices crying out in their own wilderness. Can you hear them? Crying, pleading for help with their eyes to anyone who will notice. Those are the voices of the women and children, the widows and the orphans that have been abused, abandoned by the church. Many sit week after week in the churches and synagogues. Many will sit quiet, like submissive wives. Some will smile. Some will tell you that they are “fine”. All the while, she is lying; to the world but mostly to herself To protect herself from the wrath that would come from the captor, her husband. (I am not saying that women cannot be the abuser by the way).

When a person finally cries out for help, the abuse has most likely come to a place where she fears for her life and the life of her children.

Widows and orphans. Crying. Alone. In the desert of their despair. We, who have escaped, we are angry. We are frustrated. We are fed up. And why wouldn’t we be?

We’ve been told for generations to:

Just forget the past and move on. Forgive. Stop being a victim, stop being dramatic, a drama queen as some would call it. Shut up and be quiet, obey the word, women are not to teach, or preach.

They are to be quiet, subservient and to learn from the men.

I. WILL. NOT. BE. SILENT. I WILL SPEAK OUT IN BEHALF OF WIDOWS AND ORPHANS. THE BRUISED. THE BROKEN. THE BATTERED. THE ADDICTED. THE AFFLICTED…THE INVISIBLE.

I am here, send me.

What are you?

My people perish for lack of knowledge….be part of the solution or part of the problem… it’s your choice

A Cry For Justice

Safety is always a priority for victims of domestic abuse, but particularly when the abuser senses the victim may be leaving or distancing herself from him and during the holidays.  We have seen a number of holiday domestic violence and abuse tragedies this past month, so we wanted to remind our readers of our resource pages:  Safety Planning and Cyber Safety and Social Networking. Resources on these pages are from Australia, the US, and across the United Kingdom.

To these resource pages we have recently added the following:

Tech Safety App
By the National Network to End Domestic Violence, Tech Safety has an app which contains information that can help someone identify technology-facilitated harassment, stalking, or abuse and includes tips on what can be done.  Available in English and Spanish.

The Women’s Services Network (WESNET) of Australia
With almost 350 members across Australia, WESNET is a national women’s…

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