It has been so long since I posted, I am not sure how to use the software! But the lack of posting does not imply the lack of struggle or the lack of growth. I have come to see that some areas of life will always be a struggle for me. Involvement in church being the most difficult. But, I continue to try and find the balance that is right for me. Many leave to never return and I do not blame them. Trying to walk in the place of your pain is not easy. Lately, I have backed off from an active role in order to avoid igniting my inner issues. I had pushed on in hopes of helping those who had walked in my shoes but came to realize that the very parts of me that qualified me to help, also disqualified me in the eyes of leadership. I am not fully healed. When I share a tidbit of truth, it is difficult to keep the damage out of my "voice", and what is heard is the damage rather than the truth. After all the truth can be very hard to look at and it is much easier to look at the damaged vessel that carries it and deny the message carried within. I reached a point in my relationship with the church that I could not cross without undergoing a great deal of turmoil. I looked at God and said, send someone else. I cannot go. This brings to mind the story of Jonah but alas no whale has arrived on the scene to devour me. Perhaps the fact that I am not trying to protect my pride but my very soul is the difference between Jonah and I. Or maybe I am just blind to the pride and God's grace is simply overwhelming. So why do I try? I never want to see only through the lens of my abuse. Perhaps, if I quit, the abuse will have won and I very much do not want it to win. Church is a place I continue to encounter God and while I went deep into the recesses of my soul, questioning the existence of God and His grace found in Jesus, I came out knowing He was real. My husband loves church. For him, growing up in a confusing home with a mentally ill mother and absent father, church was a safe place. This causes conflict between us - his love for church and my hate of it. When I can, I go for my love of him. He likes me with him and I like being with him. That I can do this at all - go to church - is a miracle. Sometimes I forget how big of one. When I remember I am grateful. I forget how far I have come. I ignore the courage it takes. But, when I remember, I smile at myself and embrace that courage within. I just have to be careful not to pretend that what lies under the surface is not real. If I do not honor it as a part of me, then it flares up and hurts me. So i am trying to find the balance between the world I consciously live in and the one that unconsciously lurks below the surface. Like in the church, it is too easy for me to bury the truth.

In reading back over the last 4 of my posts I realize how much healing has come in this past year. We have settled into the church I mentioned 4 posts back and not a bit of anxiety remains as I dive into the ministry opportunities available. I visited the person I was considering talking to in the post before last. He is my new pastor. He does not see me with judgement but with honor for my journey. I am not driven for attention and my identity is not found in my past. The theme in the messages shared for this year at church is finding wholeness in the 5 works of Christ: incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection, ascension, and His return. So far the truths I have learned through my journey have unfolded week after week. Today, a miracle occurred! I shared my journey in front of 100's of people. Maybe, to say that I shared part of my journey would be the more accurate statement. My pastor interviewed me for about 15 minutes in which I shared the basics of the abuse, the foundation of grace in my life that brought me through, the story of forgiveness of both myself and those that so hurt me, and finally the recent episode of my forgiving my betrayer. What is extra amazing is that all the prayer that covered me as I prepared completely defeated the anxiety I expected to feel. I experienced that anxiety for part of one day, contacted those who loved me asking them to pray, and even this morning woke to perfect peace. To stand up there on stage and see how far I have come - from horrible shame, anger, and pain to HEALING - what a celebration!

As time passes, healing comes. I recently wrestled again with forgiveness. I just could not let go of the betrayal. To tell someone of your abuse in hopes of receiving help only to have that pastor re-abuse you..... Though I wanted to forgive and hated the fact that what I felt was hurting no one but myself, I could not move on. Holding it all before God, I waited. One day, sitting in bed reading, God spoke in that undefinable way. It was nothing like I expected. "Diane, what he did was horrendous." and suddenly I saw it clearer than ever. Clearer than I see it now. God seemed to part the fog my normal brain and I saw it as I think he sees it. Not judgmentally. Just in truth as if it was in His light. I realized then that He saw the sin committed against me much clearer than I did. That, all those years I didn't see it at all, God had seen it. Suddenly, I could trust God's justice because I knew nothing was hidden from him. How much clearer he sees everything....every heart, every action, every thought. For the first time, it was ok to just let it go. God is just. His grace and truth walk together and work together.

Gregor's Scars

I recently finished a series of books written for the middle grades audience by Suzanne Collins, the author of the Hunger Games. In this series Gregor falls beneath New York City into a world few know exist. Over the course of the 6 book series, Gregor is brought into this underworld to fulfill prophesies written hundreds of years before. As fate carries him through the story, he fights battles he does not want to fight. He finds himself caught up in warfare that changes him from the 12 year old boy to the warrior. Finally a precarious balance of peace is reached in the underworld and Gregor returns to his former life above. He wonders how he will fit in with his scar covered body and heart. Like Gregor, I, too, am wondering how I fit in. The scars of the past are real. My choice to not let the past define who I am is also real. I find myself in an odd precarious balance between moving on with my life but carrying the scars with me. I do not know how to keep the balance. In science classes, I teach a concept called homeostasis. Our bodies work very hard to maintain this state of balance in our bodies. Our brain and liver and kidneys communicate non-stop via hormones to keep every molecule we need within the proper boundaries. If homeostasis is lost, we cannot survive. I do not want to be labeled with my past, yet it is a part of who I am. Any time I have shared it, my story has tainted my environment. On the other hand, I believe in transparency and its power to bring God's grace into others lives. Is there a spiritual homeostasis that exists between these two truths. There is someone I want to talk with. Do I? Or, don't I? Is it my need to receive from a person empty acceptance or is it the Holy Spirit?

Temptation

Before Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount, he spent 40 days in the wilderness. Before those 40 days he was baptized in the Jordan River. Water dripping off of Him, God the father spoke providing Christ with his true identity. "This is my son. I love him. I am pleased with Him." (Di's version) Then boom, the Holy Spirit lead him into the desert and he suffered temptation from Satan. Those temptations were for stuff (bread), fame (cast yourself off the building and let the angels save you), and power (rule the earth).

This is what I heard in church this morning. What follows is what I thought.

At 9 I was baptized. I didn't really understand, try as I did, what grace really meant but I knew it was important. A few months later, bam, I found the pornography that caused me to pull away from my human father. This left a huge painfully confused gap in my soul. I no longer had someone to speak my identity as a child's father should.

At 14, a college student shared his recent encounter with Jesus and this time I understood. I gave Him my heart and experienced the love of Christ within. A few months later, my cousin told me of her abuse at the hands of her brother in law but instead of running the other way, I ran to him, hungering for the attention.

At 17, I was engulfed by the Holy Spirit after crying for weeks to God that there must be more to this Christian walk. Within the month, Bob arrived on the scene as my new youth pastor and I chose his affirmation of my feminine self over what the Lord had to give me. For the next 4 years, hell reigned on and off in my life. And, for all these years since, I have battled against shame and the hunger for attention and affirmation from those in authority - whether it be church or school or work.

Three major steps in my life followed by three major temptations - all that I failed to conquer. Thank goodness Jesus did not fail, for in my failing, there is now the mercy and grace of God to hold on to.

Radical Love

I have been reading Philip Yancey's book, What Good Is God? For several years prior to my beginning this blog, as well as the first year or so of writing it, I questioned God's existence. Reading anything faith based caused such enormous anxiety that I avoided it in order to survive each day. Then my sister-in-law mentioned, in passing, her love of Philip Yancey's writings. I bought her a book she asked for and simultaneously purchased The Jesus I Never Knew for myself. Later I bought What is So Amazing About Grace.

These two books were the only faith based writings I could read without experiencing panic. Yancey asks the hard questions honestly and without wincing. In reading his books I found company. I was not alone in my questions.

During this season, my faith was literally reduced to the cross. I discarded much, questioned all, but when faced with the gift of Himself for me I knew I still believed. The cross was too radical to be fiction.

An agnostic I worked with once mentioned the ridiculousness of a God who would sacrifice himself. In response, and to my own shock, I responded: "That is exactly why I believe. No one would EVER make up something so ridiculously illogical." In all the other religions, god's are demanding not giving. This one element, grace, became the only sure truth for me.

During this season I sought the answer to why? "Why did this happen to ME? Why, TWICE in my life, did a pastor sexually exploit me?" From this question came terrible conflict. I saw only two possible answers - either something was wrong with me or something was wrong with God. Either I deserved the abuse or God did not love me. I vascillated between my anger at myself and my anger at God. Shame was the ultimate result.

Through the struggle, I found a third option - free will. God granted the human race free will. God is love. Love means relationship. Relationship can only occur in the presence of free will. I got to choose. Bob got to choose. Minton got to choose. The church got to choose. Sin resulted in pain. Pain I have lived with for 40 years.

However, not only have I experienced the pain but Jesus has felt every ounce of it - at least this is my belief. He feels my pain. What sacrifice.... Jesus gave up the distance between the throne and the world's pain. He knows within his consciousness our pain. This leads to a different "Why?" with the only logical answer being relationship. God so desires relationship with us that He is willing to give us choice and accept our sin and pain.

Without free will there is no love. Without the freedom to choose, my husband's love for me is empty. If I do not have the freedom to leave, then my love for him is robotic. Only in free will can we love each other.

In the end, the question as to "Why did this happen to me?" is no different from why did 9/11 occur or why did the holocaust happen? The answer is in relationship. God so longs to relate with me, his creation, that He cried as abuse occured but by letting go, something all parents must do, He gave me Himself.

In that gift of Himself there is no place for blame. Abuse did not happen because He did not love me enough. Abuse did not happen because I deserved it. Abuse happened because God and Jesus love me so much they would not take free will from me or the rest of their creation. In that reality, I suffered but I did not suffer alone.

Growth

That last post sounds really good and I hate to ruin it with a new post that isn't so up. Yet, such is life.

Over the past two years my heart has longed for a church that allows the lay people the opportunity to pray for others and to minister healing through that prayer. Two months ago, my husband and I began visiting around for the place God wants us during this season of our lives. The day we walked into CCC we both knew this was it. The Spirit was sweet and the people loving. More importantly, the church was being the church. Sure you could spot one of the pastors because he had the microphone on, but without that you would be hard pressed to figure out who were paid ministers and who weren't. I had given up hope of finding such a place where lay people are being equipped to express their gifts.

The excitement has given way to fear. The gifts of God bubble up inside of me only to be snuffed out by what seems an irrational and unfounded fear of being rejected and unwanted.

I attended a crisis recovery group last week sponsored and staffed by the church. I was so nervous my heart started palpitating. Here is the opportunity to share. Here is the chance to give instead of take - though I fully expect to receive plenty. Here is what I have longed for.

Instead of running into the Lord's calling, I could not go tonight. To share with someone else, my addictions and shame (it too surfaced again) is too frightening. Just when I thought I had my identity firmly outside of the past, the past rears itself to cover me once again in the shame. Will I ever break free of this monster?

One scripture has helped. "Jesus endured the cross, despising (refusing, rejecting, ignoring) the shame...... Jesus refused to embrace the shame of being crucified. He endured the most shameful experience of his day, but he did not allow it to define him. I may feel like the one thrown out of the church, the one shunned, the one forgotten, but by HIS mercy I can turn my eyes to the truth. Not once has God forgotten me. Not for one nanosecond has Jesus discarded me. Never has He shunned me.

Jesus, son of God, savior, have mercy on me, a sinner! Help me not to turn to men's approval again but to yours. Set me free, Lord.

A Comment

A comment from a reader brought me back to blog a new post. So much has happened since I began this blog - the most exciting is my freedom. I think we only know of our freedom as time passes and it holds true. The most telling change is my new identity. When I think of who I am, I no longer think of the abuse. I was able to let it go as a major part of who I am.

All the folks at my church who knew of my abuse are gone. The pastor moved on to new pastures. The associate has returned to school for a degree in counseling. The only other member with knowledge of my past is taking a sabbatical. For the first time, I am content to tell no one. At one time I had to have the continued reinforcement that I was ok in order to function. I do not need for anyone to know. Neither, do I feel a need to hide the past if it will serve the needs of someone else.

I have restored relationships with those who knew me during those years of turmoil. We have not discussed the past. Perhaps one day it will come up but I have chosen to not reach for their acceptance of me or to defend myself in hopes they will finally "see" the truth. The good times are defining our relationship and it is moving forward. Perhaps one day I will direct them to this blog - but only if I am sure it is needed.

I have been away from therapy for months now. I dropped back in for a session a couple of months ago to work out one issue. I did just that. I didn't reawaken a fear of leaving. Being there didn't cause me to grab hold and hang on for dear life. My craving for approval is so much less that I have managed to lay low and work and stay out of people's hair. I actually managed to stay out of the principal's office for a whole year!

My life now centers on my husband, my family, my job, and my hobbies. My relationship with God is integrated into all areas of my life. I once again truly believe in a righteous Father and a merciful and grace filled savior.

I still think of writing a book. I knew I had to reach a healthy level of freedom before I tried to do that.

Blessings out there in the blogging world. Yes, there is freedom and healing from abuse.

Victory

Each little victory over shame deserves a trumpet blare.

A few months ago, a very old friend who became entangled in my abuse story contacted me through facebook. My heart raced.

For years I had traveled back to my home town, always fearing who I would meet. The shame I carried was so encompassing that I was nauseas at the thought of running into those who knew my "secret". But this time, contact came easier. I reached out to a few others who I found on her friend list. Some seemed glad to hear from me, others not. One had forgotten I existed.

These reconnections have given me the opportunity to find my identity in the present and not in the past. And, I have done it!

I have fought so hard for this freedom. I never really believed I could get here.

Leaving It Behind

"Leaving It Behind" was a constant nudging from Stephen during my year + of therapy. I saw myself through the abuse. It was a large part of my identity. Being unfinished business, I was driven to tell others about it in order to receive the acceptance I could not give myself. Years ago I hid it, out of shame, but the wound finally burst open and it became something I HAD to talk about to those closest to me. As 10 years of therapy progressed the need to receive other's acceptance decreased.

This blog was started out of a need to be heard. At first I emptied my soul. Over time, the drivenness decreased and writing became an obligation. My posts have become less because my need is less. Thus I have written little of my time with Stephen.

The reason I worked with Stephen was his "pastoral" label. I needed to finish up with a pastor and Stephen was the one - though I had a hard time at first convincing him of that. My fiasco with Paul, my persistence, and my belief God had sent me to him finally convinced Stephen to make the time to see me on an extended basis. The very fact that I could persist and not crumble at his reticence to extend himself further in an already busy schedule, signaled an inner strength I had gained through years of work.

Stephen's nudging to "leave it behind" directed my thoughts toward a life in which my identity was found in the present. That is how God sees us. Like taking off a thick and heavy coat, allowing it to fall to the ground, and walking forward lightly clad in the warmth of God's present day; I have left behind my old identity.

New wine. New wine skins.

Staying Present

I ended my therapy with Stephen - both a time for celebration and grief. Trusting my gut, I feel finished for now. Not having written a lot during this year of working with him, I thought it would be good to jot down a few of the important things I learned. Some of these are "staying present", "it is all about relationship", "living life to it fullest honors God," "calling on mercy" and "leaving it behind".

Perhaps, the most impacting lesson was "staying present". Focusing on the actual moment I am living reduces my stress when anxiety hits. Staying present also allows me to avoid mental journeys to places I do not want to go. At first this was a very difficult idea to practice. My mind chose to do anything but to stay in the immediate.

Growing up, I used my imagination to meet many of my emotional needs. I continued to do so in my adult life, if not to the same extent. These journeys into the worlds I created became an escape from the present and a place that soothed me inside. They always involved authority figures and my interactions with them. Many times it involved sexual dynamics of acceptance and desire. These journeys became an addiction.

With abuse came another expression of this addiction. A longing seemed to explode up and out of me whenever I related to anyone in an authority position. This longing for attention.......approval........acceptance......recognition ruled my internal life. The hunger was intense. It was tormenting. I feared I would do something, anything to satiate my hunger.

In my early years of therapy, the addiction to this authority approval, governed my thoughts 90% of my free time. Since I was back in college, studying took over a hunk of my thoughts and was my one place of relief. No wonder I made A's. The rest of my mental energy involved relating to my therapist, Cheryl. I was enamored with her. I fell in love with her. I thought constantly about her. I was the child in love with the mother. Years passed and with therapy the addiction decreased. I grew up - more slowly than I wished - and little by little thoughts tended to stick less on authority figures. But, it wasn't gone.

Stephen called it an addiction. I had called it that with previous therapists but no one else had. Stephen named it but didn't judge it. It was a fact and we talked about it as such - always with God's grace and love surrounding it. Naming it was the first step towards freedom.

Staying present fights the addiction when it begins to rumble inside. Having found that safe place inside of me, focusing on the present and "going home" to that safe place breaks the urge to run to imaginings. When I feel drawn to authority and my thoughts long to go there, I focus on the present - what I have, who I am, where I am, what I am doing.

Learning to stay present was the first strategy Stephen offered me. Interestingly, staying present is not something he was taught, but something he stumbled on in his own struggles in life. A pearl he learned and offered me. A pearl that has helped set me free.

A Safe Place

Several months ago, as I was reading The Shack and dealing once again with my shame, it suddenly dawned on me that I was not a mistake. There was nothing wrong with me. As I stumbled upon the truth (once again), I was overcome with an unbelievable peace.

"There is nothing wrong with me!"

That is really not true on the every day level, but I meant it from the sense of my being-ness. I am who I am and there is nothing wrong with me as a person. I have always believed there was a critical flaw in my "being". I was mistake. "There is something wrong with me," has rung throughout my head whenever conflict in life found me.

Abuse left the branding seal on that lie. I have dealt with layer beneath layer of this false belief as I journeyed to the truth. What I have found in the truth is an amazing home inside of me where I am safe. I practice living in and out of this safe place. I invite the Holy Spirit to dwell there with me. And, I have found that my own brain can betray me and steal from me the safe retreat.

My mind has always created its own make believe world where I could find comfort, but it wasn't real and it lasted only as long of the imaginings. As I filled my dreams with being wanted by a man in leadership, someone looked up to and respected; my dopamine centers flooded me with comfort. My illicit thought life became my drug of choice.

I enjoyed my new found peace. Then life assaulted. Finding myself in a period of elevated anxiety, I leaned back into the dopamine filled fixes; only to discover that the make believe took from me the true safe place within me. I felt guilty for the thoughts that once again included my therapist. I tried to walk away from them but I hungered for the fix. I found it almost impossible to not return to my dream world even though I knew it was empty and just left me longing for more. I knew this internal battle was the battle of my life.

I shared my thoughts with my therapist. Stephen helped me to see that my make believe lives have been my way of coping with the internal anxiety, anxiety built upon the belief that there is something wrong with me. As I sought what I believed I needed, the dopamine centers in my brain released the fix. Comfort. So when comfort was not found in life and the infants internal axiety roared, I sought the fix.

"You will see the truth and the truth will set you free." Once again freedom comes with truth. Seeing it all as a chemical addiction has helped me walk away from the false and into the reality of my true self.

Litigation

I just read where the Savannah, GA diocese of the Catholic church has settled with a victim for over 4 million dollars. Whoa - that is a lot of money!

My first reaction was to think of what I had lost for not calling a lawyer years ago. I think my realization that the relationship was abusive, probably qualified me to sue even though many years had passed. Only, when did I fully realize that? I remember hearing it in therapy with Cheryl. I heard it most recently from Stephen. Somewhere between the two, in the 9 year expanse, I was able to grab hold of that truth. You know, like hanging on to the bull's horns to keep from being eviscerated.

Maybe now, I am healthy enough to withstand the intensity of litigation. Now. Now that many years have passed since that window closed.

So, the Bobs go to South America on hunting trips and the Di's pay for therapy and medication. Perhaps one day the legal window will not exist where abuse is concerned. I can imagine that would cause some perpetrators to think a little harder about their actions.

Blame

I get it! I get it! I understand why God watches us suffer. I understand that he doesn't just watch; he feels it all with us. I understand that he protects, at all costs, our freedom to choose. I understand that if we lost our freedom, we would loose our God because His love cannot exist without our freedom to choose it - or reject it. We wouldn't just lose our God; we would lose ourselves. What a cost! What a dilemna! What pain!

He didn't just bear our pain for a few hours on the cross. He bears it now. He bears it long ago. And he bears our anger at Him, our blame of Him. He bears it all because we must have our freedom or His creation ceases. Agape cannot exist without the freedom, everyone's freedom. And everyone's freedom brings heartache and loss and grief and suffering and emptiness and hatred......... and love.

If he stops the freedom, in order to protect us from hurting, then he hurts us eternally. We lose our existence. And so, he goes to all extremes to protect our freedom. Then, why would anyone choose to create, knowing they would be creating such pain for themselves and for us?

Perhaps the answer is in our beloved-ness. That is who we are to Him. Not just loved, but the place he chooses to deposit his own identity - his own Agape. This love must be so great to warrant experiencing this pain.

I want to fathom that love.

Why I Needed a Pastor as a Therapist

I knew I needed a pastor as a therapist! I knew Stephen was the right one! I also fumbled, on multiple occasions, with the words to explain this to Stephen. But today, what has rumbled in my gut, came to light in my head.


Three years ago, after I ran across Stephen's name in a book on forgiveness, I emailed and he replied. For a week we volleyed email back and forth. His response to my story of abuse was a comment that went something like this: "Abuse distorts the natural longing of a woman for a pastor."


That statement caused all sorts of stirrings inside of me. I was intrigued with hope and smothered in fear. When I asked him what he meant, Stephen directed me and my question to my therapist of the time, John. But John, had no more of a clue to what Stephen meant, than I did.



Stephen's statement scared me. For me, longing was nowhere near natural. The two words didn't belong together. The "longing" I felt for the attention of those in spiritual authority, or any kind of authority, enslaved me. It held me captive and the guard was my own fear, fear of falling once again into an illicit relationship. The longing equalled pain. Was I stuck forever in this longing?


Stephen's statement also beckoned me to discover exactly what natural longing must look like. Could something I felt be normal? The fact that a woman could long for a pastor and that be a good thing was foreign. Could I ever accept as normal my longing to work with Stephen? Could it be true that I was denying myself some good Agape love out of the fear of this longing?

Nine years ago I began a long relationship with my first therapist, Cheryl. One of Cheryl's greatest contributions was to teach me to hear what I was telling myself and then to adjust it. That process was arduous. To change the pathways formed in your brain over a lifetime does not come easily. In little ways Cheryl taught me that I was normal - but her "normal" kept getting hung up on my fundamental conservativism that said her belief was humanistic and subtlely evil.


So, I chucked God.


The fruit was there. I got better. If the fruit was there, then it must be good. Only, I couldn't weave it into my faith.

In time, I had to move on. My years of finishing my teaching degrees ended, and with it, all that wonderful free therapy with Cheryl. One time, I figured that between my individual work with Cheryl and the couple's work we did with Dan, I had saved about $100,000!


Briefly, upon leaving Cheryl, I saw John, but once Dan had an opening in his private practice, I hopped back on his couch. Dan is cool. We were a great fit. If I wanted to feel at home and comfortable, I'd have never left him. However, Dan and I both realized, after a time, that what I finally needed to work through wasn't happening with him. I knew where I needed to go. I had known my time with Stephen was "planned". The problem was convincing Stephen.

But why did I need Stephen, and why couldn't I finish this up with Dan? That was the topic of a couple of pointed sessions with Stephen. "Didn't Dan have enough love?" I was at a loss to explain to Stephen why I needed him. I just knew I did and through it all I had learned to trust my gut. Somewhere in there, either God or me or both of us, convinced Stephen to give me time he didn't have to offer.

I knew it wasn't that Dan didn't have enough love. What I didn't know was that the missing piece was Dan's lack of a passionate relationship with God while simultaneously believing he wasn't a rotten filthy piece of crap . My very conservative faith had told me that inside, I was just that - rotten and filthy and garbage. My paths in life had reinforced it. That is why I believed I needed Christ, because I was human and humans stunk and I stunk the worst of all of them. I mean I screwed 2 pastors, come on, I must stink.


Earlier Stephen had asked why I would fear the agape love of relationship or deny myself that love? I just kept thinking - you just don't know how screwed up I am inside. Then Stephen started telling me that there wasn't anything wrong with me. He kept telling me that I was fine and why didn't I move on and let go of this process. There I was trying to convince him that I wasn't fine - only the truth was that I was fine; I just wasn't finished! There is a definite difference.

Stephen's passionate love for life and Christ just kept drawing me. I learned to live in the present moment. I learned that my life fully lived honors God. I learned that by living in the present I could avoid the painful longing but it was a hell of a lot of work.


Why couldn't I just rest in that sweet love that Stephen seemed to live in. I remembered what it tasted like. I had experienced that endearing relationship before, before the abuse and my demented way of seeing myself through the shame stole it from me. For 8 years I worked with secular counselors because I didn't trust anyone who represented God. And for 8 years they helped me. They taught me. They cried with me. They accepted me. But, I still couldn't have my faith and my belief that my humaness was good.


My faith said I was a wretched sinner. My history said that something was terribly wrong with me. Those beliefs didn't align with therapy. Isn't that human of you, Diane? What are you telling yourself? What would you tell someone who was your friend? Do they deserve this self flagellation? My therapy said no, I don't deserve this self hate. My faith said I did.

The truth that being human involves weakness wasn't balanced with the truth that we are created in God's image and are beautiful in his sight. For me, that "in His image" stuff was a minor foot note to the pages of wretched dissertation scratched out in my heart.

There was something terribly wrong with me.

Three weeks ago, I read Stephen's writing on the Orthodox church and how their focus is not on sin as a blackness within us, but sin as our choices. I read where they see life, death, and hell differently from those conservative beliefs I have had. Yet, no one I have known has carried the Spirit of Christ like Stephen. God is on him, in him, through him and it is sweet and undeniably God. In Stephen I had seen a passionate committed love of Christ function side by side with a healthy acceptance of self and others. He modeled truth to me until it finally crashed through the shame.

Suddenly everything everyone had been saying to me all these years broke through the false mirror. "There is nothing wrong with me," came out of my mouth and in its place a peaceful sweet presence of God flowed in.

There is nothing wrong with me, if I choose to adjust my faith. There is nothing wrong with me, if I look at the Bible through the lens of culture and the humaness of those who wrote it. I can believe it is inspired without feeling guilty for not covering my head or keeping my mouth shut in church. For 8 years, I have not been running from God, but from what I now believe were lies.



...........I think the prodigal daughter is home.

The Rules Don't Apply to Me

I sent Stephen another email. I forgot to tell him in our session yesterday that I had forgiven Paul. Then, after I sent it, I wondered why do I do that?

Stephen is not condemning of my email, but he does remind me he has asked me not to do therapy via email. Email is for scheduling only. He handles me with mercy while presenting the rule. Funny, but last time he actually did a little therapy himself in the form of reassurance prior to reminding me of the boundary. Every once in a while the boundary has a little flexibility in it, but he holds it for my sake as well as his.

I do not do boundaries very well when it comes to those in power positions. I tend to function out of the belief that the rule doesn't apply to me. I was wondering why when it hit me, "Well, duh!"

In the abusive relationships, the connection told me I was special and I needed to hear that. To believe the rules didn't apply to me allowed my mind to separate from the truth. Boundaries are there for a reason and the reason was to protect me. Instead, I see boundaries as the right to deny me. Denial of something I want, need, and deserve. Ouch!

I am more important than Stephen's other clients. I am more important than his time in preparation to work with other counselors in training. And under that lie.......?

Well, I know this much. God will bring his truth and healing and He will do it much the way Stephen handles me - with truth and grace.

Sexual Misconduct Policy Committee

In past blogs I mentioned my hope of meeting with the Sexual Misconduct Task Force from the Disciples of Christ region. I knew a task force had been appointed to look into issues I had complained about 2 1/2 years ago. I had been told they would contact me, but when it didn't happen, I let it go. My identity is no longer founded in the past abuse. I really wasn't eager to stir it up again.

This past May I was contacted once again and this time they asked to meet with me. Having already been provided with my written suggestions, the committee had begun a rough draft of the new policy. I was sent a copy to review. Parts were good, parts needed work.

One issue I pushed for was immediate psychological testing of anyone accused of misconduct. How easy abusers pull the wool over people's eyes. Other issues included an open policy concering information provide by the accused. When I made my report, it was read verbatum to the minister, but I was not allowed access to his response. I felt abused again by the church. I was being exposed and he was being protected.

Years went by after my reporting him until my disatisfaction lead to my confrontation of him 2 years ago. So much emotion was ripped back open.....though it was a good experience for me and I have since moved on in ways I might never have.

This summer committee listened intently to my suggestions. I was shown very obvious respect and kindness. It was a good experience. I hope the new policy will help others in my shoes. It should be completed and voted on this November. I should probably write and ask for an updated draft. Whatever the end product, a victim and the church met and agreed on a great deal. It was good to experience unity and God's love in such a way.

Done that Learning Thing

Been learning a lot!

Maybe the most useful new tool is "living in the present". I discovered, that if left to what happens naturally, I spend most of my time thinking about tomorrow, real or fiction, or rehashing the past. My mind seldom embraces the details of the moment - the air I breathe, the blueness of the sky, the touch of the computer keys, the presense of those I love.

I have discovered when panic hits, the key to calming my mind, is bringing myself present. When the aching longing of someone's approval reverberates within, I bring my focus to the present and the longing eases. There isn't much room for lies in the present. It simply is.

Did you ever think about it honoring God when we live in the moment? This is what He created us for. This moment is what He lived and died for. Where is abundant life? In the past? In the future? In my imaginings? No, it is right now in the present. I presently live in His presence. To live life fully honors His gift of sacrifice for us. He died so we might have life more abundantly. Not in the pie in the sky by and by, but now - this moment.

A real eye opener for me - living life fully, honors God. Or is it - living life, fully honors God? Or - living, life fully honors God?

The Shame is Shattered

I have been meeting with Stephen now, on and off, since last January. Working with him has been challenging. He is a pastor - or once was - and now functions in pastoral ministry within the counseling office. His eyes light up as he talks about agape and our God.

Stephen prays. He prays a lot. I think he would say that he prays continuously. As I enter his office, I smell the scent of incense he has burned in his last moments before God. In some ways this has been intriguing and in other ways it has challenged my alienation from God in a most uncomfortable manner.

Slowly my relationship with God has returned. I first began praying again on a regular basis. I found it easier each time we met to talk about God moving in my life. But the best just happened. The shame is shattered.

I have envied Stephen's connection with God. It is so real and so accepting and so filled with an uncanny understanding of God's love. He breathes it in and out and, well, I have never seen anyone so enamored with the presence of God. There is no judgment in his having this and my not but rather a constant encouragement to see what I do have - it is there, don't you feel it, see it experience it? I have had that at times in life but never with this foundation that seems so unrockable. Instead, shame has always rocked my foundation.

Two weeks ago I began rereading The Shack. Having signed up for a discussion group at my church, I read and highlighted and turned down the corners of every important page. Passages leaped off the pages - things I had failed to see in the first read. But the overall issue wouldn't go away. Like Mack, I did not believe God was good, nor did I trust him. I judged Him guilty and I hated him for abandoning me. I could not reconcile my pain with God's mercy. I knew all the rationalizations of free will and God's creation but it didn't change my anger at God.

And, little by little God bored down into the pit of my soul.

After the abuse and over the years of dealing with it, I was smothered with a lie. The lie said "there is something terribly wrong with me." As I tried to embrace the truth that what happened to me was abuse and not my fault, I rattled the cage of that lie. I even disassembled it in my adult heart. Yet, deep deep down, underneath it all, formed before I had the power of language, I had first believed that lie; and still hidden,without words to speak it, the lie hissed its insidious poison.

Something was horribly wrong with me and I could not face that "truth" that was really not truth. I hated myself and that wrongness of my being but hating oneself cannot be held within for long, so I turned that hatred outward. Someone must be blamed, so I blamed God.

With pounding fists, the child lay across the mattress, screaming into her pillow. "I hate you God!" "I hate you God!" I remembered doing this throughout my childhood but I didn't remember why. I only knew I ended up there from time to time. For the past 9 years I have lived with that hatred in my conscious. Then this past weekend I realized my hatred of God was my defense from facing that false truth of something is terribly wrong with me. As I realized the truth that nothing IS wrong with me, the shame crumbled and I was flooded with the most wonderful sense of God's presence that I have ever known. It wasn't a knock me down kind of presence but one that carried only love. One without the shield of my own shame to block it. It felt kind of like a warm bath.

With the shattering of the shame has come my forgiveness of God and others that I could not find the ability to forgive. Shame always prevents us from forgiving, for someone must be to blame. We cannot handle shame so we project our anger onto others and mine was best projected onto God. Rather than hate myself, I hated Him.

The lie was exposed. The shame shattered. The hatred of God dissipated because it no longer served any purpose. What a sweet, sweet relationship I have drunk of these past few days.

An Ending and a Beginning: Termination of a Therapeutic Relationship

I have been quiet for a reason lately. My sessions with Paul became harder and harder for me to do. He pushed me to express anger that I could not express. I did not understand why I couldn't express it. The more he pushed the more I shut down.

Paul is very literal in his interpretation of psychoanalysis. He would not allow me to focus on him in any way. I was not allowed to even look at him. Any reference to his being there evoked the rhetorical question, "Why are you focusing on me, Diane?" Unbeknownst to either of us, I was trying to get at the transference that was building daily in me towards him. By preventing my focus on him, he essentially prevented me from discovering the block I was facing and to do the work I needed to do. He seemed to grow more and more frustrated with my inability to do any real work in his office, and yet, he was the reason I couldn't do it.

As we looked at past situations in my life where I had allowed people to verbally chastise me, I realized that I was allowing the same thing once again but this time in therapy. I knew I had never been able to face the pain of the loss and often accepted the abuse instead of the loss.

In our last session in December, as Paul continued to press me to release the anger I felt, I became fully silent. I knew it was time to sever what was becoming more painful and abusive than helpful. It was time to face the pain of the loss. I emailed Paul and severed my ties with him.

Over the next 5 weeks I read Lang's book on psychoanalysis (a huge book that is force fed to psych students) to try to obtain some understanding of what had happened. As I read I found over and over Lang's reference to resistances of the client and the importance of finding their source.

My resistances had been enormous and Paul's seeking them non-existent. With a little help from my old and faithful therapist, Dan, I unraveled the issue and my transference. I still do not understand how Paul could have missed this.

I despise manipulation, and that hatred formed largely in my relationship with Bob, my first abuser. Paul, unknowingly, tapped into that dynamic. Subconsciously, the more Paul manipulated me to express the anger, the more I dug in my heels. Since the whole issue was subconscious, I could only watch in disbelief as I seemed to be failing at therapy - something unheard of for me. As I realized how thick the transference had been, I began to feel some release as well as some real anger towards Paul's lack of help in the matter.

One instance with Bob, all those years ago, seemed to define it all. In anger I had charged at him, only to be forced face down in the dirt over and over. Subconsciously, I refused to verbally charge at Paul. I had sworn no one would ever have the chance to humiliate me in such a way. I would never give someone that control over me that I gave Bob when I lost my self control and released the anger.

Two weeks ago, I went in to face Paul. While I hoped he would quietly listen and own up to some of his own mistakes and maybe even feel some pain for the humiliated 17 year old, I met a completely different reality. For the first 10 minutes we argued heatedly over my focusing again on him. Since I was past the resistance from the work I had done during the 5 weeks that had passed, I was able to do what Paul had tried to get me to do for months. I stood up to him and forced him to listen to me. At one point I told him he was an idiot! It was not pleasant but I stood my ground well. He finally heard me explain the transference and allowed me to express my frustration in his lack of seeking out the resistance. He refused to apologize with the reason being that was not what happened in therapy - we were not friends and the therapeutic relationship works on a different model - at least his does. I have no doubt had it been Dan, the apology would have come without any big deal and we would have moved on.

I left with Paul's pronouncements that I would never get better if someone gave me the comfort I wanted. Oddly, I got home to two of the most comforting emails I could have received, from two other therapists. They did not seem to agree with his view. One of those therapists is the pastoral counselor I tried to get in to see prior to seeing Paul. He actually refered me to Paul. Stephen read the letter I carried to the session with Paul, just in case I found myself blocked again from speaking my thoughts. Stephen's response was that my letter was a tremendous gift to Paul. My response to Stephen was that Paul didn't see it that way.

Stephen invited me to come and sit down with him when I was ready. He would commit a limited number of sessions to talking with me. I went yesterday. Interestingly one of his comments referred to my blog. He sees my writing here as exposing myself needlessly and possibly causing myself harm. I have not been aware of any hurt but I am giving it some serious thought.

I get few responses via this site though I have readers that I know come here regularly. My intent from the beginning was to give others a chance to see inside of my heart and soul so they knew they were not alone. That was a major fear of mine as I began this journey of healing. I thought I was the only person on this earth who was so screwed up and who felt the confused emotions I felt.

The anonymity of the blog, with the exception of about 5 close friends, seems protective.

I am asking you to reply to me with your thoughts. Is what I share helpful? Do you feel less alone? Is there purpose in it?

Di