Emotional Cliff

       Control. When someone grows up without any control over their circumstances and those circumstances are chaotic, I wonder if they end up needing more control over things than normal?
  For ever I needed control. I remember when God opened my eyes to the fact I have none...not really. I can only control me...the way I act and react, how I treat others, my behavior etc.
Emotion is the first thing, especially for women that gets out of control. It is so easy to just give in and sometimes that is healthy and good, sometimes it is a willful self indulgence. There are times it is wrong, you know...pitching a fit, rage, snobbery and unforgiving.
There are times it is normal.
 I have always been under control, (ok play along with me) except for rage, for years that one had me, growing up with my circumstances bred rage. I stayed away from sadness and pity as much as I could because it was a manipulation of my mother to be a victim of everything- and I did not want to be a victim, so I was angry and IN CONTROL through that anger.
 God left me with many thorns but that hateful anger is something he wiped away. Not that I don't get angry...but that need for power through anger he took, he knew I couldn't rid myself of it.

However....I feel as though I am standing on an a new emotional cliff.  I want to say before you go further I want this post to be about us, not so much me. I know we all have stuff, hurts and disappointments, sometimes deep ones. This is for us, a baring of a soul and a glimpse of within.

  I cry....almost every day. I cry easily and I never used to. Am I depressed? I don't think so but I am deeply sad. September 14, 2015, a year and a half ago we lost our grandson. I had no idea how hard that would be. He was full term and died of a rare disease, I don't dwell on it....but it is there in every breath I take. I hurt deeply and I miss him and what could have or should have been.
 I hurt for my daughter and son in law, how awful it is to go home to an empty home without your baby.  I met a girl via Instagram that just lost her baby 6 weeks ago, when I saw her post I didn't just cry my normal tears but deep heaving hurt overcame me. I was transported back to those horrible days when my daughter got out of the hospital, so thick with sadness, so lost.

 I have some close to me that don't take up the slack or stand in the gap, in fact they exasperate things and make life harder than it needs to be. Sometimes the ones you need to lean on the most, have their own crap in the way and they just are not there and fall short or they may even make life difficult.

I miss my son, he is right here...in this town but his heart is so distant and it hurts. It just hurts.
My father is sick....and his time is limited on this earth, and I am not ready for that.
My dog isn't healthy and she has accidents on the floor which has become a source of stress in our life, not so much for me but.....

so I cry. Every day I cry, sometimes a few tears and other days my face is soaked and my nose is stuffed.

Why do I cry so easily? Why are emotions so close to the surface? Why does life hurt so
 sometimes without any promise to get better?
 How do I tell the girl on Instagram in a year and a half your heart will still hurt so deeply? How do you help your child? How do you talk to someone without ears? How do you make someone's heart soft? How do you make someone care? How do you.......
How do you????
How.
How do you get through hard times, times that seem without end?

 You just breath, you cry if you need to, talk to who will listen. Luckily I have some great friends that will listen.
Do you listen? That is something I struggle with. Listening often means you don't get to talk, or you talk much less than you like. I would like to be a better listener.


God will always listen and we know he is a good listener because we usually struggle to hear him talk.
So back to how... how do you......
 YOU don't. God does.
God heals, he softens hearts, he gives ears to hear. He gets you through although it may be long and hard. So hard.
Pray and trust and wait. He is in control.
I trust God, and he promised me he would hold me, and my daughter and little Caleb, my son in law, my husband, my son, my dad and .....my dog. He holds my life and I can rest in that and I can cry. I can cry deeply and I can hurt deeply and I can still be ok.
I can stand on an emotional cliff and not fall off.
So can you. If your life is a mess, if it is less than you hoped, if you hurt or are angry and your cliff is before you, fall back, not off. Let God catch you, he's there.

My daughter with Caleb from Molly Bears

A Fist Full Of Pills

Pitch black, stars shining bright, it was well after midnight. A beautiful summer night with the faint sound of sirens.
   I suppose he came home after the bars closed, maybe after they threw him out. He had been suffering all week from a healthy dose of pity served in a bowl of heaping blame. Mom had cut off his finger, and of course, he was still mad.

  Back in the 70's the exercise fad was a rope device that hooked onto a door knob. You would lay on the ground, head up to the door and place your hands and feet in the stirrups, the right arm and left leg would go up, then the other side, scissoring back and forth. She was getting ready to work out and they were once again arguing, she slammed the door and his finger just happened to be right there. He screamed something awful! Holding and shaking his hand, blood cast from floor to ceiling.
The tip was gone, it could not be reattached. He was sent home with meds and new ammunition.
 If you hit someone it must be their fault.......
    especially if they cut your finger off.
On that starry night less than a week later, they were at it again. I had awoke to screams of "Bob, what did you do?"
It wasn't unusual to see him stumbling drunk, but I knew something was different. He could barely stand, he fell down the stairs, he fell off the stoop, he fell to the ground and he laid there. A fist full of pills and a bottle of whiskey had done him in.
I stood outside watching, I could hear the sirens getting louder and I asked God if he would keep them from getting there on time.
I had become a calloused, fed up, skeptical 10 year old, who knew every bar phone number in town. I knew how to roll a drunk for rent money, I knew how to calm his storm by talking him down, I knew more than I needed to.
I was sick of it. Only 1 year into their marriage.....and I was praying for him to die.
 Violence changes a person, even if it is not directly perpetrated upon you.

4th grade-
 Our grading system in school was not A's and B's but U's, M's and L's. Upper, Middle, Lower- in regards to the rest of the class.
 I had been straight U's
I was now straight L's.
I don't know who noticed, if anyone did.

5th grade-
It was a beautiful day, fall I think. The sun was shining in the screen door, I sat in the cascading light, warm, with my back to the door. I was looking at the rectangle of light before me when a shadow moved in front of it. I turned to look.....that day I learned,
when you check yourself in to treatment voluntarily you can check yourself out whenever you like.
 My stomach sank, he walked in. I don't remember the rest of that day. He came home with more pills. Pills that supposedly made it hard to drink alcohol, he took them and he drank and he was very sick, and of course....very angry.

7th grade-
he had gone on many black out drunks that lasted from 3 days to a week or so, this time he never returned. We knew he was alive because he had called my grandma, whining and crying about life to her. For years I feared that shadow would once again appear in the doorway. That shadow only lived on in my dreams

8th grade-
by this time I was well on my way to being a rebellious teen. No excuses, I knew every time I did something wrong...it was wrong, I just really didn't care. I was willing to test all boundaries, a year from promiscuity, I stood on my own cliff of blame. I really hated him, but I also blamed her for her decisions to even bring him, let alone keep him around so long. He was one of many, he just stayed 4 years too long.
A friend and I decided to skip school, 13 yr olds willing to spend the day with high school boys, drinking and driving around. I guess we naively thought that if we went through our mom's medicine cabinets and did a little mixing we could somehow "enhance" the day. We took two of each, the number 16 sticks in my head, I do not remember if that was the total split or the total taken.
White
Pink
Red
Blue
My own fist full of pills, chased with liquor.
I remember a few things about that day-
a very near miss, had not others walked in my virginity would have ended unwillingly at 13 rather than willingly at 14.
I remember hanging my head out the car window with dry heaves on Main Street.
I remember fighting to stay awake.
I was sick for days.
No one found out or figured it out. I was in my 20's when it really hit me how lucky I was to have survived that day.

By the grace of God I never became addicted to drugs or booze, anger was my vice.
A false power
A false strength
yet, it made me feel in control to be angry.
Anger like pills will poison you.
It does not lead to control, but discontent.
The bottom of a bottle will not soothe, only numb and when it wears off all feelings return and the cycle must be repeated.
The arms of a stranger will not make you feel loved, you will hate yourself in the morning.

We search for answers. We search for reasons. We look to blame, it is our nature.
Things happen
to me
to you.
Don't blame, it won't change things.
Heal.
You may never understand why but you must move on. If you poison yourself- stop.
Stop

Matthew 11:28-30
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” - Jesus


To God be the glory, in all things. We do not have to understand it all, but we can trust he is loving, trustworthy and the only way for us to heal.

Honor Your Father and Mother

  Commandment
Honor your father and mother, before I became a Christian honoring my mother wasn't a concern or a thought or  a struggle.

I was always either sad or angry with her.
She would  say something unkind at times but usually she wouldn't say anything at all. Nothing really in regards to what I had done, or something I told her about me, it seemed unless it related to her it just didn't matter. That makes you sad, it taps into your, You are not good enough place.
Yeah, it just didn't matter what I did or thought, who I knew or what my day was like, or how I felt; it's not that she didn't know those things or ask, it is more like if she asked, she was expected to ask but unless somehow it was "needed" information, it would then be crumpled  and thrown on the floor like a useless scrap of paper.
I remember being very sick and in the hospital around the age of 5, the halls were long and dark and I was afraid. Perhaps they didn't let her stay there at night? Perhaps visiting hours were limited then.... I really don't remember her being there much at all I just remember long dark hallway.

When I was in grade school the Harlem Globetrotters came to town, we had tickets and I was ecstatic, days before I slipped on the ice and really hurt my tailbone. I told her but I don't know for sure what she said, what I do know is I sat on hard wood bleachers getting more and more uncomfortable as the night went on. I began to cry, I was miserable, and I was told to deal with it. We did not leave early and I did not mention it again although it hurt badly for weeks.

As a teen, mom and I moved in with her boyfriend, her now husband. We changed states, I changed schools and life as I knew it was left behind, I now lived with one emotionally diseased and one emotionally dead person.
H (that will be his name) was rude, catty and arrogant, he would pick fights with me for no reason. Depending on her mood she would either take my side or take his, usually his and if I spoke up in resistance she would slam her bedroom door and not speak to me for days. Days
At 16 no one believes you when you tell them you are the only adult in the house.
At 16 you are not an adult.
At 16 you are left with sadness and anger.
At 16 I was diagnosed with migraines, I was prescribed a couple different meds until one worked, and at 16 I slept every chance I got. I slept deeply.

No one asked how I was doing, eventually the headaches went away, at least the physical ones.
When I moved out....I was told to go....two days after graduating high school.
When I said I was getting married they came for the "party" but not for me.
When we announced our first child was on the way, mom said, "well if that is what you want." and H gave us a thirty minute lecture on how if he had to do it all again he would never have children.
     (H has three children, I only ever met one, she was an emotional wreck to say the very least)
I have been cursed for my weight, my marriage and my religion, by my mother.
Sadness turns to anger and anger becomes bitterness with time.
Walls go up  and defenses are launched toward anyone who dare attempt to enter.
That is who I became, anger in a human shell. I could smile at you and be as pleasant as a Spring day but if you crossed me I could verbally tear you to shreds. I had my moments in which I verbally tore into her.
Not honoring.
Just surviving.

As God began to heal me, his commandment to honor her both annoyed me and haunted me.
I did not nor do I now worry about H, he is really no part of my life, but because on occasion I speak with my mother I  had to find a way to understand what it was God wanted from me.
I spoke with pastors and pastors wives, I cried, I pouted and I argued with God.
Then one pastor summed it up...."how do you honor someone who is not honorable?"

I cannot answer this question for you, it is between you and God, but I can tell you what it looks like for me.

Boundaries- I must set and keep healthy boundaries, minimal contact is best for us. I have not seen her in over ten years and we speak between one and four times a year. If she is not hurtful, does not tear down others or spread lies, we will talk for a while, but if she begins to do any of those things I warn her once, if she persists I end the phone call.

I do not hate her.

I relinquish all expectations of her.

I no longer give her the power to make me sad, or happy.

If I get angry, I process it and hand it over to God.

I have empathy for her.

This is how I honor her.
I had issues on starting this blog....it could be perceived as being non honoring, I went ahead with it for these reasons.
I am not blaming my mother, I am writing about her disease and how it effected me. She has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, it controls her and it defines her. It does not excuse her.
God is honored in his healing work in me, and I trust him in his sovereign design to place me in her life as her child.
Others will be and have been already touched by reading these posts, some have not yet been healed and some are going through the process.  It is my hope to strengthen you and lead you to the only answer which is Christ.

A Prisoner of Fear and What if

From the age of 19 until 44- yep this Spring, I didn't drive on the highway. One or two little jots from one exit to the other in town was all I could muster, Lamaze breathing came in handy there at least.
My mother never drove, we didn't own a car. Growing up in small town ND, not having a car didn't really pose a problem, we just walked anywhere we needed to go. She said she backed into a pole and never drove again, I don't think she ever had a license and her mental state kept her from getting one.

When I finally got my license at 18, I set to driving.  Not a careless driver but a complacent one perhaps, definitely naive,  I had an accident that first year. Mom and Harvey, her husband- or so they said, not legally married but having been together 3 years by now were moving and I was in the way as usual. Harvey never liked me and the feeling was mutual, he by his own admission didn't like his own kids and if "he had to do it all over again, he wouldn't have any kids!" They would probably not have chosen him for a father either. I was not to go with in the move so the plan, unknown to me at the time was to pawn me off on a son of a co-worker. We met, went on a date and within a week I was told I had to move.
Stunned I asked him, David, what to do. He said, "you can move in with me." I don't think he was in on the plan I think he just reacted to a girl in trouble.
By the next week, all moved in I realized I was living with an alcoholic, soon after when he didn't come home one evening I walked to the end of the block where friends of his lived, seeing his car I peeked in the window. Through the blind I saw him, his buddy and buddy's wife, gathered around a glass table with a razor blade in hand cutting white lines of powder.
Stunned again. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I ached, sickened  and frightened with no where to run. We were now in Wyoming, oil transplants...I had graduated high school there but really didn't KNOW anyone, not well enough to ask for help. I knocked on the door, it took a while to answer....she smiled saying "come on in."
I think I made a bit of a scene, much to her disapproval, after all I awoke her small children, sigh, I guess that was worse than their parents doing cocaine in the living room.

Things went from bad to worse, I think we lived together maybe 5 or 6 months, I didn't even like him. I had made a couple trips to where mom now lived, about and hour away, that didn't work either.
On the ides of March I had headed back "home", he had asked me to return, what else was there to do? On the trip I looked down in the car, not sure what I was doing, I may have glanced at my 8 week old Cocker Spaniel puppy or looked at the radio, but when I looked up I had crossed the white line into the oncoming lane. No one else was there.....but I panicked, over-correcting, I sent myself hurling into an embankment . Flipping four times and ejected out the third roll through the front windshield.
I remember placing my hand in front of my face and thinking "oh shit, I have wrecked my car!" Funny what the mind thinks at a moment like that.
I awoke to an ambulance crew and the women who witnessed the whole thing, one went for help the other stayed with me.  They asked my name....I couldn't remember, they asked the day....I was a week behind, but slowly it came back.  I  could hear whining coming from my now teepee shaped Toyota. My pup inside with a scratch on his nose, I looked to see him and saw my car a good 100 feet away, that is what saved me....I was told by the responders usually the person is killed when the car hits them or lands on them in this situation. I was thrown late in the rollover and far.

I laid in the emergency room having a cavern sized tear in my arm stitched, everything ached. Concussion, broken pelvis, glass embedded everywhere and at the time they thought a broken back.
Four days, four nights and my mother, who lived 30 minutes away came...for one ten minute visit. My boyfriend....came once for about an hour then to pick me up when I was released.
Thank God for the old woman in the bed next to me who was my advocate for pain meds, my only company, she at least cared.
When David and I got home I quickly realized he was embarrassed to be out in public with a hobbling, black and blue stitched up mess. At some time during that first week or two we had another argument, he must have been on something because I witnessed an anger I had not yet seen. He grabbed the stair railing and shook it loose from the wall, the entire thing, his face distorted and eyes enraged, I  knew I had to leave for good. By God's design my grandparents were at mom's for a visit, and I asked to go home, back to ND with them. David drove me down that road one last time, and I never drove on the highway again.
  Though my body hurt for years,  I was captive to fear much longer, what if I do it again?   I didn't even drive in town for almost 3 years.
I prayed for strength, for bravery for trust...but fear always defeated me. My poor husband has driven many 15 hour days on trip, and put up with me squirming over ice, speed, what others are doing, I am sure my blood pressure has been off the hook more times on the road than I care to know.
I was a prisoner.
Until...
This Spring, I drove 100 miles on the interstate. A quiet stretch, no snow or ice....I did it.
I had struggled as a Christian with God's sovereignty, knowing nothing would happen to me that was not in his hands and knowing good or bad...it was in his plans. I knew that yet I still chose fear. paralyzing fear.

Isaiah 61

 ¹ The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
   because the LORD has anointed me
   to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
   to proclaim freedom for the captives
   and release from darkness for the prisoners,

God set me free from that paralyzing fear,still a work in progress, you won't find me volunteering for long road trips or driving with unsafe drivers, but the beginning of freedom.
God has set me free from many things. Some things I still hold on to.
We are easily captivated, to fear, to addiction, attitude, unforgiveness.  We are captive to what others do or don't do, what they say or don't say, what we need from them and do not receive. But we can be free.
If you find yourself captive, bend your knees.
If your fearful, grab ahold of He who is solid.
If your angry, release.

Healing is a Choice

A few years ago I lead a class at our church based on the book "Healing is a Choice" by Stephen Arterburn. I opened with my testimony, what it was like growing up with a narcissistic parent and come and go alcoholics. Knowing the content could be a lot for some to handle, I expected a few to leave, and they did. I was left with a room of hurting, people. Most of them processing, a few still blaming and a couple in willful withdrawal.
On the second night of class Ms. M walked in. She was pretty with long brown hair. She seemed confident, that take charge personality.
She sat at my table and began to talk of her childhood, soon the facade of that confidence crumbled. Having missed the first night and not hearing anything I had said, my jaw dropped when she looked at me and asked,"Do you know what a narcissist is?" I said yes, and smiled, perhaps I smiled out of shock.


She had two parents that fell into that category. Two? Details escape me, but I will never forget how fractured she was- still. At around 40, an adult with children of her own,  the little girl deep within told her story through tears and shaking. She could barely breathe.

So many times I have thought because I didn't suffer physical abuse it really wasn't that bad. I still think that. I figure most of the things wrong in my life are a result of me...and no one else is to blame, yet seeing her somehow validated the hurt that was holding on to the little shaking girl inside of me.

I once heard Dr. Laura Schlessinger speaking on air to a woman, she too had a broken mommy. Dr. Laura told her she needed to mourn the loss of her mother, the mother she wished she had.
I stood in the kitchen and cried, realizing I too had to mourn the loss of my mother, the mother I wished I had, the mother that would be there when I needed her.
I guess it fractures a child when they are forced to grow up. Forced to make decisions or be the adult of the house, to need comfort and receive none. It makes one tough, it can make one bitter, it may make them a bully and it can give them the facade of confidence.
You can't hurt me, I won't allow it.

but then.....
in that moment of mourning came the beginning of healing.
She couldn't be, she was incapable of being that mother I needed.
Narcissism stands in the way of empathy, it annihilates sympathy for anyone but itself.
It moves to the front of the grade school lunch line and punches anyone who tries to get in the way.
Narcissism consumes my mother, it does not absolve her of her behavior but it does explain it.
And, it allows me to lay aside all expectations from her.
She cannot let me down if I do not look to her to lift me up.

Miss M somehow still was waiting, needing validation from her parents. They were unable to give it, she was still allowing them to let her down.
She never returned to the class........Healing is a Choice.