Some years back, yet not very long ago, I was involved in an abusive relationship. My abuser was my lover, and I thought my future husband. My fiance abused me mentally, and physically but most devastatingly emotionally. He found all my weaknesses, and when it served his purposes, he used them to manipulate me.
The physical abuse came first, and I laid the blame for that squarely on the shoulders of my abuser. However, as time passed and the abuse continued, I began to assume my share of the responsibility for it. After all I allowed it to happen, I provoked him, I just didn't know when to leave him alone, I had to help him help himself, I was just as responsible for what was happening (funny how that emotional manipulation can twist your head...).
Eventually, I was so consumed with my own guilt in the matter, that I naturally progressed to my second lover shame. It was destiny really...the physical scars had to have their emotional counterpart and shame was it. shame and I became very intimate. shame was my constant companion. shame went with me wherever I went: to work, to my house, to family gatherings, to church. And I was a possessive, jealous lover...no one could ever know the whole reality of what was going on. I was a strong person, I had it together...how could I share my shame and let my co-workers, fellow church members and friends know what was going on? But I had my shame, and damned if I didn't hold on to it, and the remnants of my relationship. Flawed as it was, I couldn't let it or shame go.
I eventually discovered other things about my fiance that I just couldn't bear. Apparently the abuse wasn't enough to make me leave, and that's another story in itself. But after it was over, I still had shame. Then came my third lover, regret. shame filled the space my lover left, preventing me from even considering another relationship. regret just seconded that emotion. I was filled with regret: regret for meeting my fiance, regret for becoming involved, regret for hanging on for as long as I did, regret for the time and energy I spent on that farce. I even regretted that I couldn't find him the help he needed. It was crippling.
There were times that I'd get dressed, fix my hair, put on makeup, drive to work, work all day, and go home...and all I could really remember is being enshrouded in shame & regret. They bathed me, clothed me, fixed my hair, forced me to keep up the semblance of sanity...otherwise I'd just lay in the bed and cry all day.
I'd love to say that suddenly my knight in shining armor rode up & swept me away, but this is reality, and that didn't happen. And there was no epiphany. What really happened is that God (slowly and in small doses) revealed to me who I was, and what He meant for me to do. Okay, I'm not one of your bible-thumping, every Sunday service Christians. But I believe. And I know He sent angels to me, in the form of co-workers and friends, when I needed them most. They shared things with me, basic spiritual truths, and stories of hardships they'd endured, to let me know that even what I'd been through would pass. They never knew, and still don't know all that I went through. They shared because they knew the many meanings of grace, and were moved to share that with me. They never preached, never mentioned His name. Yet they explained the things they'd been through, and how they made it through. And that was all I needed. Now I know, that was just God using them as a vessel, to give me the lessons I needed to learn. Even my abuser was a lesson I needed to learn, to appreciate real love whenever I came across it again. I've forgiven him, and that forgiveness helped me forgive myself.
And my lovers, shame & regret? Eventually, I sent them packing. Which brings me back to my road rage problem. When I sent them packing, they went far away. So even when it'd be healthy for me to have a large dose of shame, he's loooonnnggg gone.
Funny, I didn't mean to get into a discussion about my spirituality...and I really didn't mean to cry like a baby when talking about how God saved me. But I did, and it feels good to get it out. I really hope that one day my story will help someone in a similar situation get through it
I don't have a witty one liner to end this one...and I've got to go make some phone calls to tell some folks exactly how much they mean to me.
