Posted by: Judy | May 20, 2015

A little bit more…

This is the last of this bit of insanity. It may be TMI (too much information). However, it influenced Mother’s Day and maybe a whole lot more.

On the morning of Mother’s Day, I woke with cramps. I’ve been experiencing symptoms of menopause for over a decade. I’ve reached the point where my cycle skips months at a time.

To have cramps show up on Mother’s Day felt like a cruel joke. The ultimate physical sign I could have been a mother, but I’m not. My dream, for as along as I can remember, was to be a wife and mother, in that order, but I’m not.

I had horrendous cramps, especially as a teen. Nothing helped. I never stayed home from school because it would have been worse. It would have required NM calling the school to keep me home, and she would have had to stay home, missing work. I would have had to hear about how much extra work it would cause her and how much money it would cost from lost pay. Her anger and guilting would be worse than anything I was feeling.

For most of the day, I managed to ignore it. At 1:30 a.m., the pain was worse than I’d experienced in decades. Rage exploded.

Growing up, I justified enduring the pain. Here was physical evidence I would be a mother someday, have a family, and do things right. My children would never know the abuse, neglect, and rejection I did. They would know they were accepted and loved.

No marriage. No children. I went through all that agonizing pain, month after month, because… why?

At 2:00 a.m., I’d hit my limit. I ranted at God, in my head because I didn’t want to wake anyone. I swore at Him, called Him names, and told Him I hated Him. The raving lasted less than a minute. It crashed, and I dissolved into self-condemnation. It IS my fault I am where I am. The choices have been mine. No one else. No excuses.

Why would He do this to me? He is the Creator of the Universe. He is able to part the Red Sea, flood the earth, promise to never do it again, heal lepers, move mountains, and, and, and… He wouldn’t hold off this painful reminder for one lousy day?

What was the purpose?

One particular memory flashed through my mind, a memory I don’t talk about because I don’t remember it entirely. I’m also afraid to examine it too closely. Maybe it’s time.

I was somewhere between eleven and fifteen, I think. I can’t be sure. It was after my courses (sorry, Regency slips in) started but before high school. That’s all I can be sure of, I think. I know this memory is real; I simply can’t place the exact time or all the details. I think I was around 14 or 15, but I’m guessing.

It was nighttime, and I was crying because the pain was so bad. I tried to be quiet, but my parents heard. I’d taken Anacin, the only pain reliever in the house. It did nothing.

Side note: NM never experienced cramps. EF’s sisters did, so I’m guessing it’s hereditary. Mind wandering… or avoiding.

I didn’t expect my parents to do anything. NM crawled into bed with me and wanted to hold me. I didn’t want to be held. I can’t remember if I let her or not. It wasn’t comforting. It totally creeped me out, but I was in too much pain to do much about it. Even the thought still creeps me out. I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t think anything, except me trying to figure out how to escape.

NM parentized me and baby-ized me. The woman who threatened my life often enough and convincingly enough I believed her, held me, her teenage daughter, like I was a defenseless baby. Around the same time, she also bought matching dresses, so we were “twinsies.”

Was it then I developed my aversion to being touched by her at all or was that simply the solidifying of that abhorrence?

I don’t know. I do know I hate that memory… it elicits disgust, fury, and a sense of helplessness. Even so, I don’t think anything more happened. I think the anger was cumulative. So many boundaries violated, so often, in so many ways.

So, God, what was I supposed to learn?

Maybe I needed to bring that memory out into the light.

Mended Musings shared a bit of her story on her blog (may be triggering to rape survivors):

http://mendedmusings.com/2015/05/12/my-body-remembers/

Is my body trying to help me remember more than I do? I honestly don’t remember anything happening to me other than being molested, watched, and hit. I don’t remember all the details of the molestation, only a few bits and pieces. More could have happened, but I don’t know. I don’t think so.

Maybe there is something more, but not the obvious. I don’t know.

Add to it, a weird dream a few nights ago where I was dating this guy, a potential marriage partner, and he was excited. I knew it was my fault, and I had to fix it without breaking a commandment. I’m still working out that bit of insanity. Actually, I was told that the abuse was my fault by NM. I was raised to be ultra responsible, so of course I had to fix it while remaining practically perfect in every way. NM was also in the dream rambling about diet. Yep, working that out, too. My dog was also present. Perhaps to let me know she’s near and watching or simply as a comfort. I don’t know.

I do know that my current heroine, Cassandra, is far clearer in my mind than she ever was. I’ll let her work it out.

Something I’ve been discovering of late: My stories are me working out my “what ifs” and other questions.

Then Operation Restored Warrior shared a post by John Eldridge and Ransomed Heart Ministries on FB:

Women are image bearers of God. Women are co-heirs with Christ. Women are valued, worthy, powerful, and needed. There is a reason the Enemy fears women and has poured his hatred onto our very existence. Let him be afraid, then. For “we are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Cor. 4:8–9). We are more than conquerors through Christ who strengthens us, and we will not be overcome. God is our strength. Jesus is our defender. The Holy Spirit is our portion. And in the name of our God and Savior, we will choose to love him. We will choose to bow down in surrendered worship to our God. And by the power of Christ in us, we will choose to rise up and be women of God, bringing his kingdom in unyielding and merciful strength.
~
Becoming Myself

When I asked God why He was playing such a cruel joke I felt a gentle rebuke that He was reminding me He sees all of me, even the parts I endeavor to banish because they’re too painful to think about.

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Responses

  1. I have strong aversions to being touched by my mother (and I’m not the most touchy-feely person for that matter) because it never felt safe.

    Hugs to you (not the smothering, icky kind 😉 )

    • Funnily enough, I touch a lot, once I feel safe. Hand on the arm or the back type of thing… so the person is able to move away easily.

      😀 Thank you! ((Judith))

  2. Thank you for sharing. This puts another piece in the puzzle. She is creepy.

    • You’re welcome.


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