Showers of blessings

Today I had an appointment with my therapists and they first questioned me on how I’m doing without the medications. I explained that I’m past the withdrawal stage and that I am so much more clear and focused in life now than I ever was before. I reiterated several times that it’s because I’ve turned everything over to God and I am letting Him have control over my life. The questioning continued to make sure I have safeguards in place just in case something happens that may cause me to need the meds again. I am grateful that I have counselors who are adamant on making sure I stay safe and healthy. I explained that I’m not just living on a cloud nine spiritual experience, but that I’m cultivating a new way of life that is incorporating my faith and the coping skills I’m learning in the individual and group therapy sessions. I have a spiritual mentor I can turn to, and I’ve made several friends who share my faith and are also striving to fulfill their purpose God has for them. My therapists even stated that I may have been misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder since I have done so well coming off the medications, but I know this is not the case. I know the manic and depressive episodes I experienced were true stages of bipolar disorder. The difference now is that I am relying on God to give me the power and strength to overcome my demons. And God is blessing me in enormous ways that I never thought possible. I don’t carry the shame and guilt of my past abuse and poor choices I’ve made in life like I used to. I’ve unclenched my fists from the tight grasp they had on bitterness and anger and self-loathing. I am making leaps and bounds in old and new relationships that I am intentionally putting effort into so that I can develop more deep and meaningful interactions. I have been complimented so many times recently on my glowing countenance and physical appearance. I am not trying to be vain; in fact, it has been very humbling each time someone has complimented me in regards to how I look. It is something I’ve always wanted because one of my biggest disappointments and fears has always been rejection. The only reason why my appearance is different now is that I’ve let God do the transformation instead of stubbornly trying to do it on my own. And I’m not saying everything in my life is picture perfect now either. I still have my huge faults that get me in trouble and cause pain to myself and others. I still have a few big dreams that I beg God for daily to help make them come true, and I feel like they are just a few more steps away. He has brought me this far, and I believe He will grant me the desires of my heart because I am focusing on Him and asking for Him to guide me so that I will pursue and want what His plans are for me anyway.

God’s precious gifts

http://www.redrockschurch.com/media/watch-messages/series/80/

“Parenting is hard, but God has lots of grace for you.”

Ever since I was young, I knew that I wanted a big family. I had even made a bet with my brother that I’d give him $100 if I didn’t have at least ten kids, and another $100 if I didn’t have a set of twins. Needless to say, barring a miracle, I owe my brother $200 still. I always wanted my firstborn to be a boy, but God decided otherwise, and now I wouldn’t change my daughter as the oldest for the world. I am the oldest of three, and I always wanted a big brother to take care of me and stand up for me. My brother did an amazing job of that anyways, even though he is two and a half years younger than me. I’m sure like most girls I dreamed up different names for my future boys and girls. My oldest daughter was going to be named Cassandra, no ifs, ands, or buts. That was supposed to be my first name since it was chosen three times out of a hat, or whatever they used, but my dad won out and gave me the name of Barbara. Which I absolutely detested, especially since it brought on the nickname Barbie. To this day a lot of my older relatives or people who know me from the church I grew up in still call me that.

Looking back I think I wanted kids so people could look at them and congratulate me for what adorable babies I had. And for them to keep complimenting me as each one grew older. Bluntly, at one point I likened it as to having more trophies under my belt for which I could be praised. Even writing this, I am ashamed of how selfish I was, and still continue to be. But I want to be completely honest about my previous screwed up thinking because I believe there are other parents who may have thought or experienced the same things, and I want them to know that such self-centered thinking can be changed. All along I knew that my children are precious gifts from God that He has given me the privilege to steward, but ultimately I have to leave them in His hands to do His will through whatever He calls them to do.

Of course reality and circumstances may change things, but for now Cassie wants to be a beautician/makeup artist; Joey in the video gaming field; Alana a baker; and Collin a soccer player or police officer. I love that they have these beautiful aspirations already, and I pray that will excel at what they do. Not for fame or fortune, but so that they can have such joy in their lives by developing their skills and passions in whatever career He wants them to be a part of. I had dreams of being a pediatrician because I was always interested in the medical field, and that would give me an opportunity to work with children as well. Eventually I knew that wasn’t going to happen, and I was encouraged to become a high school teacher, preferably in history and English. That didn’t pan out either, mostly because of my mental health issues. I am learning to pray constantly for my children’s future because I know how easily one can be tempted to go a totally opposite direction from where God wants us to be.

I have struggled with so much guilt and shame because I have not been able to be the kind of mother I hoped I would become. My migraines and bipolar disorder kept me from taking good care of my children because I was hurting or tired or so depressed that I had little to no energy or desire to do anything. I remember one night I was up late sitting at the computer desk sobbing, and I didn’t know that Cassie, who was probably about four at that time, had woken up until she walked up to me. Unfortunately, she remembers this too. She sat in my lap, hugged me, and asked if I was alright. My heart was so touched and so torn that my young daughter knew how much pain I was in and wanted to comfort me. I cried even more because the roles shouldn’t have been reversed; I was supposed to be the one comforting her whenever she cried.

I was so ashamed when others called me out on my shortcomings as a parent, and I usually reacted by being mean and nasty. Not only was I failing in taking care of my kids, but I was also failing in letting my hurt and anger cause division and strife in my relationships with friends and family. I knew I wanted things to be different, but I just couldn’t seem to get myself to do things the right way. Their father, grandparents, and several other relatives stepped up and did what needed to be done for them physically and emotionally.

I still struggle with my anger towards my children. Even the littlest thing can set me off like a rocket, and my words become louder and harsher. I know the Bible verses about how to love one another by being kind, but I just can’t seem to stay calm and act appropriately in balancing love and discipline towards them. This video that I watched was exactly what I needed because the speaker reiterated that parenting is no easy task, but God extends grace for my failures and shortcomings. This grace is a model of how I should be handling my own children. Just as God loves me unconditionally as an adopted daughter through Jesus Christ, I need to demonstrate that kind of love as much as humanly possible. No one can parent perfectly, but we can learn to let God show us how to do our best with this responsibility.

Regardless of whatever morals, values, and behaviors I try to instill in my children, they were also born with a free will and can decide to go any direction in their life. Again, I need to love my children unconditionally, no matter what decisions they make – even if it goes against every belief that I have. My daughters and sons will have to stand before God someday, just like myself, and give an account for everything they did or said in their lifetime. He wants them to accept Jesus into their heart, and I know that at least two of them have, since that is the only way that they can have a relationship with Him and spend eternity with Him and all the angels and other believers. I have messed up so badly so far, but I can’t keep beating myself up for those mistakes. God will use the good and bad of my parenting and use it in my children’s lives. I have learned that I can always work on giving more hugs and kisses, being more diligent in spending quality time with them, and work on truly listening to what their hearts and minds want to share with the world. I hope and pray that God will use the joy and pain, laughter and tears, strengths and fears to mold them into the beautiful treasures that they are and always will be.

Bottom of the bottle

I have been trying to lace all my posts with some type of positive encouragement, and this one will as well. But this is me exposing one of the worst moments in my life. I was in another extreme depressive state of my life back in 2009. I was trying to function daily, but just couldn’t bear functioning anymore. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for me. There was no light whatsoever. I had a husband, children, home and a job. I felt helpless trying to take care of myself, let alone my home or work life. And like many other people who have experienced my kind of pain, I made a conscious decision that not only affected me greatly, but my family and friends as well.

That morning my ex-husband took the kids to school, and I knew he would be back afterwards. I sat on the edge of our bed and stared at a couple of the prescription bottles I was getting tired of taking pills from every day. I think it was my mood stabilizer and anxiety medications. I heard my ex moving around in the other room, but I knew he would check on me eventually. In a desperate attempt, I took several pills from both bottles; I couldn’t even tell you how many of each. I remember getting extremely sleepy, but I can’t remember where my body was – if I was on the bed, the floor, wherever.

Basically the next few hours were only audible. I could hear people talking but it was like I was in complete darkness. I heard my ex call 911 and call his mom. I cannot even fathom the fear he must have been experiencing. I don’t know how long it took for the paramedics and police to get there. I could somewhat feel them moving me around, but I couldn’t tell what they were doing. What I do remember is that one policeman and one male paramedic made comments that were absolutely degrading and disgusting. Like I wasn’t enduring enough pain and humiliation in my life already.

The officer had talked to my ex about what events may have led up to my overdose. To spare my ex, I will not give the exact words the officer spoke, but he made a crude comment about our personal life. The next insult came from the paramedic who “loaded” me into the ambulance. His irritation was evident when he told me to help him get myself in because I was hurting his back. He attacked further by berating me and telling me that they would probably pump my stomach, and if that’s what I had wanted. No compassion whatsoever. But then I hadn’t made that decision to try to get sympathy and compassion. I was just trying to escape.

I knew I wasn’t going to die. I knew I would be sick and have some consequences, but I just didn’t know to what extent. I knew God wasn’t done with me yet, even though I took such drastic measures to escape my pain. After I got to the hospital I remember going in and out hearing what the staff were doing for me. I did not have to have my stomach pumped, which some people were amazed at. Obviously when I was stabilized, I was put on constant watch so I wouldn’t try anything harmful again. Later I was transferred to the first of my psychiatric ward stays. That story is for another time. The family and friends that visited me were so thankful yet extremely worried about my overdose and my mental state. My best friend at that time had come and gave me such a huge hug, whispering against my hair “I prayed, I prayed!” I don’t even know how her relationship with God is, if at all, but she had that much love for me to resort to prayer. My mom always poured herself into her children, and she hurt because she couldn’t take away my hurt. My cousin has been there for me since way back when, and I am grateful she chose to come visit me then, and several times thereafter at my other hospitalizations.

There was so much more emotion on my part and the part of everyone else involved in my story, but there is no way to completely capture that in mere words. That was one of my wake-up calls. Adjusting and monitoring medications for bipolar disorder was such an exhausting ordeal. It still is to this day. And I did have other thoughts of hurting myself again after that incident. I had the life experience and better understanding of my mental issues though that I didn’t follow through a second time.

I have been a Christian since I was six years old. I don’t know when I first started experiencing bipolar symptoms, but I can remember them as far back as junior high. Back then I knew something was wrong, but I had no name for it or any idea how to find out what was wrong. But all this time I have still believed that God was real. His greatest miracle for me was keeping me alive, but I know He is with me regardless of that. I still fought tooth and nail for years on end working for what I wanted, and not what He wanted for me. Sometimes I would draw closer to Him, but not enough where I was willing to give Him total control. Until this past October. I had another mental and emotional breakdown that sent me to a crisis residential center for two weeks. Another story for another time. But that was the final nudge that God gave to me to make me finally realize I can’t excel in my life if I don’t listen to Him. I won’t overcome anything without His strength and power. And now He is restoring my life in ways I never would have imagined. And there is so much more to come. So I do see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but I also see the Light surrounding me now. He will keep me safe from any darkness that may cross my path again until the moment that He alone has destined for me to die. But from that moment when I enter eternity, I will never have to look at the bottom of a bottle again.

Wounded healers, experienced ministers

I am going to rely heavily on T.D Jakes book God’s Leading Lady in regards to the topic of sexual trauma and abuse. The terms he uses in the title of this post are his description of those who are working through their past issues of abuse, and use that to help others who are just coming to terms with their losses. His example revolves around the Biblical story of a woman named Tamar, who was brutally raped by her brother. She felt guilty for what happened, and felt she should have or could have prevented it. Some women suffer this in silence, and others process it by making it known.

This paragraph addresses his view on her grief: “It is perfectly okay to indulge your grief in the wake of tragedy. Certainly she should not blame herself for what happened; she has nothing to be ashamed about. She didn’t bring this upon herself. But neither can she just walk away like nothing happened. You can’t ignore the abuse inflicted upon you. That’s denial, and your repressed emotions will only rise up and surface later in your life, with an intensity that is tenfold the original and so much more damaging. No, Tamar is right to express her devastation. She can’t and shouldn’t sweep the incident under the carpet. Nor should she endure the suffering alone. Pretending nothing happened would just protect Amnon (her perpetrator), and feed fuel to the fire of her own shame. Sharing grief lightens its load and makes it easier to bear.”  p.166

So many women feel like they will be shamed even more if they tell their story, whether it comes from their own mind or someone insisting they just “sweep the incident under the carpet.” That dirty filth should not stay stuffed under a carpet just to prevent the abuser, or anyone else aware of the abuse, from being viewed as a dirty, filthy human being. This only perpetuates the cycle of abuse. Let it be told so the abuser can be prevented in whatever means possible from ever doing this to another of God’s children. I did not come forward to accuse my abuser legally, but later in my adulthood I did warn someone in his life of what he had done so she could be aware. I have no idea what came of that warning because I did not get a response, nor was I expecting one. My hands were clean though of refusing to try to prevent him from abusing again, and I prayed for protection for any other women or girls he might come across.

I can hear those people now who are pointing their finger at me and saying “how dare you bring up his sins when you are just as much of a dirty, filthy sinner.” Of course I am; I don’t deny that. God sees all sin the same. But as humans the after effects of sin take its toll on us differently. I dare bring this up because I have that right and responsibility, to be an advocate for those whose hand I can take and lovingly tell them I understand their pain. Take myself, my circle, my surroundings out of the way of the truth, and give a voice to those who are absolutely terrified to speak. Sharing you devastating pain is cathartic and can begin a path to recovering from a life held down by broken dreams. Use that ugly, strangling darkness and  burst forth into a beautiful confidante and mentor. This is one of the facets of my calling.

Jakes continues by saying that Tamar was faced with trusting men right after the incident when her other brother Absalom graciously extends his help for her to recover. Some women are blessed with having those male influences help restore their faith and sanity, but others never get to experience that beautiful act of love. Either way, it is possible to have hope in humanity again. We can use our time of loss to turn our face to our Savior, and accept the help from the caring, compassionate women who come alongside us. Sometimes this help has to be looked for; not everything in life will fall into our lap.

It takes extraordinary courage to ask for help from individuals or agencies. No ifs, ands or buts…all victims should seek help from trustworthy, capable sources. I have encountered helpers who extended their hands and hearts when I didn’t know where to turn, and others that I searched out for myself. All ambassadors that God has used for His healing work in my heart. I can do my best to strongly urge other abused women to look for help, but it has to be a personal decision that they make. God has people and methods He wants to use to help us reclaim the power He supplies. Then we can boldly move forward in life, leaving our mark wherever He wants us to. Don’t believe the lies that we can never become someone great in the cause for Christ, just because someone stripped us of the sanctity of our body and soul. God can work unbelievable miracles in the midst of depression, self-loathing, anger, and defeat. I want to use my story to show many hurting women that their identity does not lie in the tragedy forced upon them, but rather in the beautiful gift of being a daughter of the Heavenly Father, a princess of the King of Kings.