Spiritually enslaved

“Bound”
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGgFs07Ar5-/?igshid=1v9zqun43nt1a

I could feel the famine as my tastebuds were tricked into savoring and becoming addicted to the flavor from the essence of meeting my needs. The chains that held me captive, though heavy, kept me trapped in a belief that this was my worth and value.

My survival mode is what told me to remain with my broken pieces for if I broke the lock that was cinched so tightly, how would I be fed the morsels that kept me alive?

There was a point I was so deep within the struggle I couldn’t see another way. This was my comfort food, my nourishment that sustained me for 1 day increments. The rest of my days, I was starving.

The dungeon was dark, cold and despairing, but it felt familiar and safe somehow. The rituals, protocols and rules overtook me. I didn’t know I was in danger, mentally and physically being tormented as my soul cried out.

One day I saw a link that had rusted and became like glue, but looking closer, I noticed another that had cracked. This precious piece had been compromised as I wiggled it a little each day. Days, weeks, months even years had passed and though this once sturdy link, now weakened over time, gave me strength I hadn’t known before.

Could it be that if these restraints were all removed that I could withstand the release and experience freedom, have joy and peace, comfort and feel loved? Terrified I would die, remain lost and starve forever, I found ways to begin to break away.

Consumed with questions, paralyzed by my own answers and fearing the truth, I embraced the idea and took that first leap. What was about to happen I couldn’t know or see and where I was going to end up I couldn’t reach, not yet.

Day 1, I learned to take a big gulp of the new air I had never smelled before. Day 2, I felt new strength as my legs stood taller and walked a little farther down the path. Day 3, I tasted this sweet flavor that was clearing my palette that I’d never experienced before.

Day 150, my appetite has gone from destruction to reconstruction of my spirit. What I craved all those years was never going to be enough to make me
feel full. Your fish are not that delicious, but my Fathers fridge is full! I haven’t been eating the wrong things, I’ve been getting them from the wrong source.

He has done for me what I couldn’t consider and by doing so, He created room to receive the truth, the peace, the love, comfort and joy. Welcome to my funeral for the rabble as I enjoy the new feast.

✍🏻🧝🏻‍♀️

Equal parts of pleasure and pain

That’s the addiction between them, but where’s the love, honor, devotion and respect?

Unhealthy as can be, walking along, him loving her, their desire undying, what else could they expect?

No ordinary life style created from the darkest part, the destruction of her broken heart.

Time over time she trusted him with it all, never believing the depths she would fall.

It isn’t who he is, but rather whom he’s become, she fights her own battles, with no escape or place to run.

For now it’s clear to see, her equal part gained pleasure with the pain she had endured, yet his love, she will forever treasure…

✍🏻🧝🏻‍♀️

He’s some kind of a sorcerer

Philippians 4:13
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me

He had cast a spell over me some time ago. I loved him when he was hurting me. I trusted him not to do it again. I believed him when he said he loved me. I questioned him in my mind and answered it to my heart.

It was he who disappointed me. It was he who lied with every word falling from his lips. It was he who deceived me. It was he who took pleasure while I suffered. It was he who tore it all apart.

I can see clearly now that the physical and daily mental pain has gone astray, the kind you inflicted upon me.

I feel clarity washing over me, the kind that allows me to see clearly.

I taste a little freedom now and then since making real choices as decisions are declared over my life by me now.

I smell the fragrance of life since I’ve been unshackled from being devoured whole and fed nonsense by you.

Today I can pause, it’s a must, to pay attention to my breath for this is all I can trust.

Because of you I walked away from all that I knew, believed in, held tight to, counted on and grew.

Thank you for the release from ties that kept me bound, for had you not I wouldn’t have the courage to stand firmly on this ground.

Time under tension increases strength and power, so is it no wonder I’ve come back to my One and only strong tower.

How grateful to you I have a new found peace and revel in the quiet moments to worship, glorify and to hear, the gentle whispers of my God who is always near.

Uncluttered is my heart, open it to receive, let my mind become sharper, it is honestly in You I deeply believe.

✍🏻🧝🏻‍♀️

Please just let me be

The hurt and the healing… it’s all my process

There’s still those nights when the poison must come out = the problem the hurt the pain

There’s more days than before when the light shines through = the solution the hope the joy

Seeing you in the distance, passing you on the road, stirs up emotions I have to unload…

You threw me away time and time again. Each discard breaking my heart more than the last.

Days would pass, sometimes even months and there you are, missing me and I you.

I faded more with every reconciliation while more torture brought deeper pain.

You’ve abandoned and dismissed me as if I never existed. I see now that it cut to my core, straight through to my soul.

You took it all and left me naked beneath the ground. Buried alive with pennies over my eyes you left your rag doll burnt and shattered.

I’ve spent my days since your final display when you shoved me out, replaying events that still haunt me today.

I want you to suffer and wriggle in fear the way you torment me by keeping this real.

I get it, the inner turmoil that drives those hurtful parts of you, but you need help to overcome the demons that reside within you.

There was a time you evoked all the goodness from me. Now you bring out the worst with your unwillingness to take responsibility.

It’s an ugly trait and I feel sorry for you. The longer you go untreated, the darker you become and the hardening of your heart can’t be undone.

How could you let us come to this. Such acts of hatred and remorse. Really it’s your own hurting bones and crushed spirit that makes you behave in these bizarre, unexplainable ways.

I didn’t put any of it in you, yet I’ve been paying for the sins of others since the day we came to be.

You take me back to the depths of that despair with one single motion. If this is the direction you truly wanted things to go, be a grownup, a mature man, the one who had my complete devotion.

I don’t want to suffer beautifully for you any longer, you fucked up, twisted man. What you’ve done and continue to do only makes me see the true version of you.

There are other victims for you to choose from, the ones you had lined up when you set me free.

Go screw with their minds, leave your marks on their flesh, let me fucking go.

Please just let me be…

✍🏻🧝🏻‍♀️

The insanity cha cha

🧠🔨

She’s too tired to cry. She’s too worn to care. She’s too numb to feel. She’s too torn to choose.

She cries out, please hold my heart. She rises up, please heal my soul. She reaches out, please mend my spirit.

She’s not where she once was, but she’s not yet where she hopes to be.

He’s too tired to cry. He’s too worn to care. He’s too numb to feel. He’s too torn to choose.

He makes her cry with her heart so heavy. He holds her down wreaking havoc on her soul. He lets go of her hand as he unravels her spirit.

He’s not yet where he wants to be, but he’s not where he once was either.

The familiarity draws them close, makes him run, leaving her all alone.

Driven by fear, neither can receive God’s Favor to make it disappear.

In her darkest despair, she struggles to believe, he won’t trust so neither can receive.

✍🏻🧖🏼‍♀️

Disappointment is overdone

How many scars should she justify just because she trusted the man holding the knife? 🔪

She sat in her bed as the sun streamed through

Her heart feeling heavy as it had the day before

She thought to herself why she continues to dwell

A new day awakens her with a better story to tell

Still she can’t help but wonder

Why she can’t keep herself from going under

She takes a different road for a change of scenery

Her attachment lingers although she’s feeling free

She’s scarred, wounded and maybe even bent

Never could she have predicted the way it went

How messed up life can be with one wrong turn

Disappointed again just let the fuckers burn…

✍🏻🧖🏼‍♀️

It takes time to reclaim hope

HOPE

If she could only forget how her world once revolved around him
She could be free…

When she can at last choose to breathe because her life depends upon it
She will be free…

If she could stop pretending that being happy requires serving him
She can be free…

When she comes to realize it was all manipulative control
She will be set free…

If she can learn to accept he manufactured a lifestyle and it was abuse
She can be free…

When she stops looking back at the pain and deception
She will be free…

If she can find her way through the darkness where the light is leading the way
She will feel free…

When she can inhale peace and exhale joy
She can be free…

If she begins to understand his empty hearted soul
She can be set free…

When she knows he cannot pour from his cup that is dry
She will be free…

If she can find the comfort in being without him yet is grateful for the stillness
She is becoming free…

When she looks in the mirror and recognizes her own reflection
She has let go a little more and is feeling free…

If she sheds more tears and you can’t understand how he is making her feel
Give her space and time to process

One day she’ll awaken and simply know
what it’s like to be completely free…

✍🏻🧖🏼

Rescuing herself

She hides behind her smile, her insides riddled with anxiety, her breath shortens while her chest is tight and yet you can’t fathom how deep her troubles run. She disguises it well from the outside world while she fights to get up and face another day.

This friend of yours shares a story with you, one where you aren’t sure if she’s referring to herself or something she’s read, but suddenly you realize, it is in fact her horrific experience. As you continue to politely listen, the shock and disbelief well up. The pain grows in her heart, the agony dims the light in her eyes and as you watch, her body physically changes. She speaks more words, you become uncomfortable and though you don’t mean to, you interrupt her flow with your concerned opinion. Suddenly she turns the faucet off, chokes back her tears and shuts back down. She is experiencing a trigger from a deep gaping wound. Voiceless again, she shoves that secret back down to where it lives.

You didn’t mean to create this reaction. How could you know that this friend standing in front of you has such inner turmoil erupting inside of her? She took a chance on you, trusting you to just hear her cries and take her seriously without judgement or condemnation. So often when she has a moment of bravery and courage to reach out, she does so with the hope of being heard, believed and understood. She hesitates, even retracts some of the information and begins trivializing it once more.

She didn’t “know better”. She struggles with confusion and retraces her steps over the years of abuse. How could she be so trusting, so naive, as she beats herself up now too, feeling so dumb. Over time, she disappeared, even to herself. The coercion and insidiousness of what had become her life, though a little more behind her, the pain engulfs her and she desperately fights to overcome. Her friends observe from their perspective., “She’s a survivor. She’s resilient. She’s strong”. You think you see her solutions and without meaning to, the accusations fly; “if she would just abc, xyz”. “This again?” “Are you still talking about HIM/that?!” These are the worst things you can say to her. All of your well intended thoughts would cause her to retreat back to her darkness where she resides with those secrets that whittle her away.

Never dismiss her need to keep talking. There’s more that keeps emerging with every passing day as she fights for the freedom of her soul. This isn’t one of those things she can keep ignoring and hope it dissipates on its own. No, the poison has to come out with the fear from her oppression. One day you will notice the light returning to her spirit and you’ll know she is healing. Meanwhile, hear her, hug her, just be there.

They have all loved her through the battles they can see, but can you with the ones invisible to you? Is it unconditional or based on her doing what makes you more at ease? She keeps wrestling with the lies she’s been told and the battles still to overcome, wondering if there’s truth to any of it. She is telling you in her own way of her broken spirit, her beaten body, her shame, her wounds, her hurt and her survival. What she doesn’t realize is, she’s truly revealing that she is a conqueror, but she has no idea, not yet. She is still coming out of the affects of his gas lighting leaving her to think maybe she is crazy, but she’s not.

There are days she believes what you dear friend tell her with your uplifting words, but when she needs to run the thread down to the core of its root, listen compassionately, respond with love, offer the gift of your presence and allow her the dignity to process and time she needs to get to the other side. The only way for her to get through it, is to go through it, one hour, one day at a time.

When she comes to you, her heart in her hands, be the light in her darkness and a dose of love because she is running on empty. In doing this, you have given her a gift she will cherish and it reminds her she has another fight left in her…

✍🏻🧖🏼‍♀️

I don’t see what you see

This is between you and you love

When she was a young girl, before the insidious abuse began, it was just the 3 of them. Her mama would often make her way into the single bathroom they all shared and look in the mirror beside her then 7 year old daughter and smile. “Do you think we look alike?” she would ask. Daughter grinning back at her pretty mama, “yes!” They would giggle and go about their grooming and silliness before the school bell rang and her pretty mama would head off to work. She was learning at a very young age what being a soft, feminine, sweet little girl was by watching and learning from her very young mama. At 26 years old, she was the most beautiful, kind person in this girl’s life. She loved her with all her heart and she knew her mama did too.

They were essentially growing up together, but she also knew that mama was the adult and she had to follow her rules. Her big brother was only 16 months older than her and he loved them both, but somewhere he began growing up faster than she did. Maybe this is what happens to a young man when there isn’t a daddy around. She loved her big brother. They had fun playing outside, riding bikes and skateboards, tossing the football and playing catch. No one ever told her she couldn’t play like the boys and when his friends came over, they didn’t mind having the little sister tag along, much. She had her own friends too, but being with the boys was fun.

As she got a little older, this eventually started to fade. Either way, she was outgrowing them or they quit liking the baby sister hanging around. This is when that new man came into mama’s life and our lives began to turn upside down. Mama gradually stopped visiting her in the bathroom mirror and she was beginning to look elsewhere for validation and approval. She was turning the corner on adolescence when a young lady desperately needed her mama to keep teaching her about being that soft, feminine, young lady she was emerging into. She was losing her, or was mama losing herself?

Her teenage years were approaching and while other girls seemed to struggle with the normal issues of confidence, self esteem and courage, she continued to spiral down in her own self worth and doubt about her appearances. Boys were the topic amongst all these girls she was getting to know in her junior high days and she was becoming more shy with every passing day. Attention she received embarrassed her and she didn’t quite know what to do about it. She secretly had crushes on this boy and that one, but that was all she knew, how to like them, but not talk to them. She was getting good at hiding.

By the time she was in 8th grade, her family had moved to a new area which meant she had to start a brand new school and make new friends. This was especially difficult for the extra quiet and shy girl she had become. He immediately liked the new girl on the block and by that winter had become her first boyfriend. She had gone from admiring boys from afar to holding hands in public and at school with this assertive young man and she liked it. He was well liked and everyone knew him in this tiny little school. She quickly made a handful of new friends and was no longer angry about being uprooted from the only home she had ever known. This didn’t increase her confidence or boost her self esteem, but it did create an addiction to love and affection that would affect her relationships from there on out.

She learned that being with that special someone no matter the cost, was always better than being alone. This was the pattern she had established at the very young age of 15 when they entered their sophomore year in high school still a couple. What can you possibly know at that age? Was being in a committed, long term relationship normal at their age? Apparently to them it was. He told her often of her beauty and built her up the best he could, but she couldn’t receive his words of her external looks when she was fighting an internal battle for so many years now.

This would go on for years to follow, clear into adulthood. Her inner beauty so lacking in the strength and confidence a father typically instills in his little girl early on. Having an absent bio daddy and an abusive, substitute, narcissistic step monster who began objectifying her at age 14, she just wanted to be invisible and she worked hard to succeed at that. Her mama had long since been able to replace any of the hurtful, demeaning words that humiliated her since she herself was suffering most of the abuse from this monster. Her once, beautiful, spirited, lovely mama was just gone. Deep in the pits of despair she was cast and there she remained until her death.

By the time that young lady was married and a mama with 3 babies of her own, she had attempted to follow the beauty regiment she had learned at such a young age. She often recalled those intimate, special moments buried in her memories she shared with her mama. She recoiled at remembering his disturbing leering and twisted innuendos and once again chose to be invisible, rejecting the advances of her own husband and father of her children. Her head was muddled and certainly fucked up as she thought, what sort of woman doesn’t welcome the compliments of her own husband? Surely there is something horribly wrong with me she thought, but still she couldn’t shake off the shivers that haunted her. Don’t look at me, don’t see me and please, whatever you do, just don’t notice me.

It would be years later, five years post divorce that for the first time in her life, there was a man who did in fact, not only notice her and made her tummy flip, she welcomed his advances and wanted him to indeed see her. After the first 6 months or so his love bombing had hooked her so deeply she couldn’t get enough of his attention and longed for more. At some unknown point in time, after all the confidence and uplifting he had poured into her, she had changed her appearance to the point that he took notice of people noticing her and he loved that. As long as she was by his side, protecting her from other men, she felt safe. For the first time in her life, she thought she had been found and actually loved.

A secure sense of belonging overcame her for the first few years. One day she saw something different looking in the mirror at this indescribable image, she no longer recognized the lady looking back at her. The closer she gazed at the reflection, the more distorted and unfamiliar the features became. She had quietly been slipping away and was reverting back to that young girl, desiring nothing more than to be invisible once again. She had become her beautiful, lost mama after all. Fuck.

The compliments and uplifting expressions they keep tossing at her, are words and verbalized observations of her outward appearance. They haven’t matched her inside disturbance since she was that 7 year old, standing next to her mama, staring in the looking glass. Now she says to them…

Stretching for her true self again

“I don’t see what you see…”

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

Still more crap under the bullshit

As if grieving during the painful process of a loss isn’t enough. She thought she had dug her way down to the delusional bottom of the pile and wait, oh yes, there is another heap to dismantle. She had begun to breathe, even find a little peace now and then as she made her way through those still, sometimes agonizing days. She actually found her smile again.

The stages of grief, she can recite those off the top of her head, but more importantly, she understands them when they hit. “Oh, you again, fuck off”, but she didn’t mean it. Embrace each one. Look it square in the face little one. We are survivors, sure, but really, we are resilient fighters and most of all, important as fuck.

She took her almighty shovel out today and said, “alright crap, let’s just see what other bullshit you have for us today” and with one sturdy plunge, the hunt was on. For fuck sake, she thought she had uncovered this one, but there it was in all its glory, hiding like the coward who put it there. “I see you” she said, “and you can no longer hide from me”. As she fought deliberately to force the pile apart, she felt the all too familiar sting of tears welling up in her eyes. What the fuck now? Haven’t we shed enough of these for all we’ve been through girl? As she thought these words to herself, she remembered what she had learned (again) from her oldest, long time friend in her world, “cry till you’re dry honey”. How the fuck is there anything left?

Ah, it was beginning to make sense to her. Every layer has another story to tell and all the cover up is eroding away to tell you what you need to know love, one small piece at a time. We can’t possibly take the 9 years from the most current abuser, the 18 years from the one before and the 10 years from the original source of childhood where it all began and have it magically be healed, over and done with it. It just doesn’t work like that. We have more work to do and so it continues.

Here we stand, together but alone, digging, sifting and sorting through the debris and rubble we have been left with. Let’s call this here, “experience”. Some would rather happily shove this shit under a great big rock and never look at again. Others, like us girl, will not only take it out from the dark place of which it’s been buried, grab the microscope and start the deep internal examination. Let’s call this here, “analysis”. This part of the process will help us determine the “whys, how comes and what for’s”. All the answers to these inquiries are crucial to why the fuck we do what we do, love who we love, follow and attach to what’s familiar, accept the unacceptable and tolerate the intolerable. Let’s call this here, “lessons”. The question that often arises during this portion is, “why is this happening?” When the better, more affective one would be, “what am I getting out of this, what am I learning?” No one wants to believe that the mounds of bullshit they’re uncovering and discovering is actually useful information for their own growth, but it truly is beneficial to the sometimes excruciating, always imperative, healing path.

What we will find next is becoming like a treasure hunt to learning who she really is, on her own, with no other outside influences controlling her thoughts and emotions, her soul and her body, just her and her alone on this fabulous ride called life. Why then does our princess in the story of her newfound life keep bumping up against more wreckage that can sometimes halt her in the middle of the deserted road? She asks herself this often while she keeps pushing on.

It is in the ashes where beauty remains. Yeah, yeah, she has this expression down cold having had her spirit burned to the ground and torn down, both literally and metaphorically. Each time she has risen, more grateful than the time before, but she has grown weary of them all. Let’s call this here, “strength”. “Diamonds are created under pressure and can cut through glass. A mighty oak grows strong in contrary winds. A palm tree might bend but it won’t break.” She often relates herself to these well defined comparisons and smiles, then wonders for how long she must endure and drudge through the remaining piles. It all comes down to educating your brilliant, sweet, smart, feisty ass girl and so she digs a little deeper into the soil of her soul…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻