I was reading something a friend wrote the other day – about their desire to meet and know truly WHOLE people, people who would need nothing from them or anyone else.

It took me a while to digest that statement. Is there really such a thing as a WHOLE person – a person who doesn’t need anyone else? Furthermore, could I be such a person (because in theory, it DOES sound nice). Or, are WHOLE people really just great pretenders and deniers?

Don’t get me wrong – I believe there is a huge difference between wallowing in self-pity and blame and actually working through your wounds, struggles, and pain. To me, a person who strives for complete WHOLENESS by themselves (and in /of themselves) is a person setting themselves of for failure.

The past few years have been an amazing time for me – loaded with some intense pain, but also major self-discovery and triumphs and healing. As I read through Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul by John and Stasi Edredge, I feel…less alone. In a way, it’s freeing to know so many women feel the way I do (while in other ways, saddens me).

My journey of healing is no-where near its completion and yet I feel drawn to begin chronicling it already – as I believe this in and of itself will aid in my healing.

And, in order to heal we (I) must first be willing to strip down the walls of our (my) own
“Shack” (another great book, by the way). In John and Stasi Eldredge’s book, there is a chapter named “Wounded,” where they implore the reader to take inventory of some of the pain in their past and the messages those wounds inflicted upon our hearts and minds – ONLY so that we may begin to heal.

I wrote previously in my series fille stupide about being raped and I guess many of my deeper wounds BEGIN there. I wrote much about the event itself but almost nothing of the aftermath…

…the best friend who turned her back on me, teaching me once again that friends will only hurt you and you can only trust yourself.

…the struggles that developed between my parents and I, leaving me feeling so alone when what I needed most was understanding and a hand to hold. Instead, they mistook my silence and withdrawal as a secretiveness and I took their words and actions of disapproval and punishment as a message that told me being raped was MY fault, therefore they disapproved and needed to punish me. (SIDENOTE: Now, 8 years later, I can say that I fully believe my parents did what they thought was best – they interpreted and dealt the only way they knew how. Two parents trying to understand and a hurting 15 year old sometimes don’t make the best teams for healing. And, while it may have taken both sides 8 years to realize what had been going on within each of us, we have finally reached a point of healing for us both.)

…the looks and taunts of my classmates as I returned to school. As I heard the whispers, “whore” and “slut” over and over again (some from my previous best friend), I felt alone and unloved and even began to believe that perhaps I had brought it all upon myself – that I was unworthy of their love and support.

…At the age of 16, I began having sex with boys just to see if it would happen again. I wasn’t just raped when I was 15, but my body was physically injured in a major way and I felt that that too was MY fault. That there was something wrong with me. I wondered if perhaps it hadn’t been his fault at all, and all of mine. So, I began having sex in an effort to prove to myself that I would be okay – that sex for the rest of my life would not result in blood and pain and misery.

…I then began seeking older boys’ attention – boys who never had my best interests at heart – because I wanted (needed) to believe I was worthy of love (by a man). This had nothing to do with sexuality, and everything to do with seeking someone to love me and see me for who I was.

…The heartfelt letter that was thrown in my face when I expressed how sad and lonely I’d become and was even considering taking my own life. I had carefully considered each word and letter of that letter, words I couldn’t say aloud, and having them shoved in my face along with bitter words of disgust further concreted the self-hatred and disgust that I was sure everyone else felt for me, too.

…These wounds never really healed, but only festered and burned. Time and time again, I was hurt and with each incident, as if a lashing to my soul, I began closing the walls of my heart. In college, every message I’d seemed to retain from the betrayal and hurt began to build upon each other. I just wanted it to end. And, so by my own hands, I tried to end my own life. I was certain that not only was I unloved, but that I was unworthy of such love – that by removing myself from this world, it (and the lives in it) would be improved.

…In my adult life, I fought hard to overcome the betrayal and hurt I’d been caused before. I tried to push it away, tried convincing myself that it was due to immaturity and people were different now, as adults. I hoped to start anew, but the wounds still burned deep inside and as each new friendship I sought waxed and then waned, only to burn out – I began to feel again the hopelessness of being unworthy.

…I finally began to blossom and grow after I met my (now) husband. I felt safe and that I could truly be myself and would still be loved. I had accepted that I may never be able to trust anyone outside of our marriage, but that he would always be a constant of love. Until one day he wasn’t. The betrayals within our marriage kicked me hard and in an intense way, sending me spiraling into depths of darkness I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to overcome…

…When I finally reached out to a church for love and support, I was turned away. I was told that my baptism had essentially not been good enough, and therefore unless I was re-baptized, I would not be accepted. I had finally come, searching again for a church in which to find God, and now I was being turned away. Not even a church could love me.

…And, when the doctors told me I may never have a child of my own, I cursed my God through steamy tears. This, being the only thing I wanted more than ANYTHING, I felt like my own Father in heaven had turned HIS back on me, as well. If he couldn’t love me, who would?

To me, the messages were clear.

I was undeserving of love and hope – so much, in fact, that not only my closest friends and family seemed to fall away like dominoes, but even my God was not above abandoning me.

Some people chose to be alone, but it seemed to forever follow me.

So, this is my journey – from desolation to something more. I’ve only just begun and yet I’ve come so far.

(PLEASE NOTE: While my “wounds” are real, some have been partially healed. Some of the messages that were ingrained in my heart at 15 and 20 years old are NOT THE SAME. This is my journey, and I am choosing to chronicle some of the “beginning” in order to better understand and heal the past. I have come a long way from where I first begun, but can still feel some of the scars from previous wounds.)

Your turn – if you want it. If you were to strip away the walls you’ve built and the wounds you’ve covered, what would you see? What are some of your wounds? (Feel free to join me and write in the comments or leave your link – or email it to me..)

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