The vacant stare in my eyes gave it away. there was something wrong. something wrong with ME. I was a "nobody, a worthless piece of nothing you bitch." I was the worst kid ever. I brought you home good grades, i dressed in whatever you told me to, i said the things you told me to say, and did the things you told me to do. I was still a "piece of crap." I wasn't worth your time and your money you said, on my 10th birthday when you refused to throw me a party. I was going to "see how it felt" to not get things in life. Nothing could cheer me up that day.

Not the funfetti cake.

Not the new Limited Too clothes.

Not the ten sparkly pink candles.

Nothing.

I took my cake and ate it silently. It didn't even taste good. I didn't even want it. All i wanted was a family.

"But we have that", i thought to myself. "we are a normal family." I started in on my normal list:

We have friends over and go to pizza inn and movie outlet

we go on family vacations every year to myrtle beach

we have a nice house with our dog oreo and a trampoline

we go to church on sunday and wednesday nights

we get takeout from Caulfield's

What I should have said was

we have friends over and go to pizza inn, then get beat up on sunday because the house isn't clean

we go on family vacations where mom pitches fits and refuses to go the night before every. single. time.

we have a nice house and that's all we have-the walls. we don't have conversation within these walls.

we go to church on sunday and wednesday night and we fake like we're normal.

we get takeout from caulfield's because mom's job is more important to her than ever being around at dinner.

Fast forward-6 years later.

it is the day of my first pep rally. A day i have worked towards for the last 3 months, holding an extra cheerleading practice each week for the last month. I am so proud. Not only did we raise all the money for our trendy maroon and gold uniforms, we also got matching asics to go with them. Our stunts were all coming together, and i was so excited to show off my moves. my bangs looked perfect, my brown hair straightened to a crisp. just how i liked it. The vacant stare was gone from my eyes. Now a confident young woman stood before you that day, determined to "amount to something." I looked up in the stands and you were there. I could barely believe it. I was so excited. 

The introductions started and i ran out when my name was called, trying desperately to make eye contact with you. You didn't look at me. You were there, but you weren't there. You were somewhere else, in your own world, probably thinking about work deadlines and losing the next 5 pounds. When i got finished, i ran over to you. I wanted what i had always wanted, what every little girl longs to hear from the time she is a toddler and can talk. "I love you, i'm so proud of you."

silence.

But this time, i didn't hang my head low and let it bother me. No, this time i had someone i could count on to believe in me, and i knew that night he would make it alright.

She loves me. She loves me not.

3 years old. running through the sprinkler on fox hall drive, shouting with glee as she hands me a grape popsicle. She loves me.

4 years old, at Grace Christian preschool. We are doing the 3 Nanny Goats play. My new pink dress with blue flowers on it. I look in the audience with my embarrassed face, she smiles.

She loves me.

5 years old, in Mrs. Clary's kindergarten class. She visits the class mexican party when we learn about Mexico. "I'm so proud of you, Emmy. That flower is beautiful", she says, of the tissue paper flower i made for my hair. 

She loves me.

6 years old. The rental house on Azalea drive. Stressed, upset, yelling, hurrying us to school. who is this woman?

She loves me?

8 years old. My princess birthday party. blue cake, pink shirt. Pulling hair, slapping, calling me worthless. Friends arrive. Numb. little gold horn. Fake. Playing party games. Trying to make it through. Don't let your bottom lip quiver, Emily.

She loves me not.

9 years old. Hiding bruises during Ms Bolick's P.E. class. Desparate to fit in. Secret twin language. Sense of belonging. Trampling my stomach. Strangling me. Will i make it....

She loves me not.

10 years old. You're too bad of a kid to get a birthday party. Lots of gifts anyway.

im so proud of your straight a's. You've lost weight from doing gymnastics.

She loves me? She loves me not?

13 years old. Fistfights on Bent Tree. Unplugging the phone. You're just jealous of Kasey. The attention of a boy. Maybe he will love me?

She loves me not.

15 years old. Trips to the pool, taking us shopping with friends. Pep rally. She's here! 

She loves me!

16 years old. Tanner. Where is she? i haven't seen her for weeks? Who is she? Anorexic. Girdles. Scales. "if you keep eating like that you'll end up like a two ton tessie"

She loves me not.

18. valedictorian. she writes my speech. She's proud. 

She loves me.

22. Wedding planning. Slaps across the face. "it's all about you, you, you. You selfish BITCH."

She loves me not.

she loves me? she loves me not?

who is she?

The Sabbath.

The covers were pulled tightly over my head.

Who knows what i did this time? Did I refuse to wipe the baseboards down? Did i protest my grilled cheese and chocolate milk for sunday afternoon lunch? Did I accidentally ignore her, too tuned into the tv? 

All i knew was, i was getting it. And it was bad.

It was my typical sunday afternoon. The time when most families eat a leisurely lunch, laughing and resting their sabbath away. Except at 265 Bent Tree Drive, Jesus wasn't spoken about on sundays, or any other day for that matter. But satan was. you little devil, you little witch. How i abhor you! I outta knock you from here down to the end of the road!!

Every single time i heard those words come out of her mouth, i knew it was coming. That's why i was hiding under the covers with Lindsay, our legs tucked under us and adrenaline pumping. Sometimes we would laugh together as we awaited the beating. Pretty soon though, after having our hair pulled out and faces slapped, we would sit in that room, the one dad had painted tar heel blue just for us, and weep.

Not the kind of weeping you do when you sense a loss in the family, not the kind of crying when you lose a beloved pet or your favorite childhood toy gets thrown away.

It was a sorrow i can't describe. A sorrow mingled with deep anger and hatred. I've tried to describe it to jake, but it can't really be understood unless you've gone through it. 

It was a loss of hope.

I no longer believed i was a good kid.

i no longer believed she would love me. Heck, i'd tried. I made all a's, was a junior girl scout and gymnast, i even kept quiet a lot and even fixed my own snacks in the fifth grade after school.

No matter what, emily and lindsay were "devils on wheels".

I sobbed for hours on that white iron twin bed, with my wacky colorful comforter they had gotten me,  my hanson posters surrounding my bed.

What did my friends see when they came to my house?

They saw fun! They loved going to the twins house-the trampoline, riding rollerblades, eating junk food, watching movies, listening to cd's on my huge boom box. They saw the typical family.

you know what i saw? 

I saw through it all. I saw a room i went and hid out in before you "beat me to a pulp", as you would say.

I saw dad vanish from the scene each time you turned violent.

I saw me, a 10 year old kid turn into a MONSTER so i didn't have to go to school with a bald spot, or better yet die the time you trampled my stomach.

I saw through it all. The money, the clothes, the awards, the trips. 

I looked into the mirror one day in sixth grade. I saw a zitty, ugly, adolescent child. instead of believing i was worthy of living, that i amounted to anything, i saw what you said about me.

"I wish God never put breath in you."

And when those things would happen on sundays, when i would hide out in anticipation of the beating, then sit sobbing in my room, sometimes i wished God never put breath in me either.

the 7th grade dance

I still remember it like it was yesterday. The nervous butterflies in my stomach at school. The questioning, "what will i wear? Will anyone want to dance with me?" Hoping that i would get to slow dance to my favorite song of the month, Lately by Divine. It was happening. Tonight. The 7th grade dance!! The last one of the year.

I had had a lot of trouble fitting in this year at school-taunted by mom nearly every day, my facade of the good girl was falling apart. One day, as i raced to my locker 15 minutes late for school after another fight with mom, Mrs. Lewis spotted me slamming my locker violently. "I don't know what your problem is today, Miss, but you better suck it up" she said, and i hung my head in shame. The walls were coming down. I couldn't hold myself together anymore. Tired of hearing what a "worthless piece of nothing" I was, I stood at my locker, sobbing, thinking to myself-it's true. I don't amount to anything. 

But back to the story. Tonight was my night. I was going to enjoy the dance and "be confident." (ha, yeah right).

As i tore through my closet, I settled on a white t-shirt with GAP printed across it. I was going for the casual, lived-in look. I didn't want to try too hard. I paired it with my favorite pair of gap shorts, and got to work fixing my feathered bangs. Soon, mom walked into the bathroom. I just knew it. She was going to say something profound. Something sweet about the dance. After all, she of anyone knew how insecure i was about my braces and zitty face. She had to remember how hard it was to fit in in middle school. Instead, she was in one of her moods. "You're going to the dance wearing THAT?" she snarled. I protested, thinking to myself, no. no. NO. This isn't how it's supposed to go at all. You're the one that's supposed to tell me I'm pretty. even if I'm not. I stuttered out, "yeah..this shirt is new and i wanted to wear it."

"That's ridiculous, Emily. You have all these good clothes in your closet that i've worked my fingers to the bone to buy for you and that's what you're going to wear? You're nuts."

Wanting to avoid a fight, I got to work on my bangs. I liked them to have that feathered look, where they curled perfectly in a hair sprayed "C" across my forehead.

The insults continued, and got harsher with ever word.

"Mooom, I want a boyfirend" she taunted me. "Well guess what? You'll never get a boyfriend looking like that, you ugly piece of shit."

Astonished, i fought back. I was not going to let her ruin my perfect night.

"leave me alone you witch! Why are you talking to me like this?"

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! She was slapping me across the face. Hard.

"You need your mouth washed out with soap you damn bitch" she said as she fled the room.

 I peered into the mirror to see a dark red handprint across my cheek. 

I was devastated. How could i show up now? My night was ruined. 

I sobbed, dark, angry tears. Alone, my face distorted. The smile that was there five minutes ago was now an ugly quivering lip. My nose was starting to get red. Shit. I hated when that happened. People could always tell the twins apart by emily's redness around her nose. 

Suck it up, i told myself. But i couldn't. I was so sensitive, and her words cut me like a knife.

Why couldn't i be more like Lindsay? Tough, resilient, and confident. Instead, I let her words affect me for dasys, carrying them around in my chest. They were there when i woke up and looked in the mirror at my frizzy hair. I wish God never put breath in you. They were there when i sat at the lunch table with my so called friends, unable to eat more than my dunkaroos. die today, die today, i hope you die TODAY. They were there when i got home from school and stuffed my face with farm rich cheese sticks. I outta knock you from here down to the end of the road. And they were going with me to the dance tonight. You'll never get a boyfriend.

To Be Continued...

"He Will Not Let Go"

It may take time, on this journey slow
What lies ahead, I'm not sure I know
But the hand that holds this flailing soul
He will not let go

There may be days, when I cannot breathe
There may be scars, that will stay with me
But the deepest stains, they will be washed clean
And He will not let go

When all around my soul gives way
He then is all my hope and stay
When grief has paralyzed my heart
His grip holds even tighter than the dark

I've heard it soft, this too shall pass
The joy will come, that the hurt won't last
So I will trust that within His grasp
I am not alone
For He will not let go

On Healing.

I found this quote in a book i'm reading on recovering from childhood trauma and i find them to be so true:
"Our pain-filled society also suffers because many Christians misrepresent God and hid His image. Sometimes the church focuses on the judgment and wrath of God and forgets about the love and forgiveness given by Him through Christ. Another misrepresentation of God is a lack of distinction between woundedness and sin. the wounds we sustained while growing up in a dysfunctional home were beyond our control and not a direct result of our own actions, but we often felt guilty anyway. On the other hand, sin is a willful act for which one is accountable and for which it is appropriate to feel guilty. Understanding the difference between woundedness and sin is extremely important for adult children because of the severe wounds inflicted upon us.

The church has often mistakenly presented all problems as sin and been self-righteous and judgmental about sinners. Consideration is not always given to roundedness as a reason for our problems. The church has often portrayed God as vengeful and angry, wanting to punish us rather than show us the love and forgiveness that are ours because Christ died on the cross for our sins.

It is important to understand that our behavior is not the only basis for our pain. the wounds we have suffered also cause pain and they must be healed in order for us to achieve wholeness. The lack of distinction between woundedness and sin has led many Christians to believe that "turning from sin" is the solution to recovery. This is simply not true, either from a therapeutic or from a biblical standpoint. We also need to heal our wounds and change our thinking about how to react to people and events."


This is very challenging to me… God is calling His people to proclaim peace to those who have been hurt or are suffering, and to help bind up their wounds. If you immediately start talking about someones sin without listening to their life story, you can end up giving them another gaping wound.

"Maggie, if you do that again mommy will have to spank you."
And as i took her into her room, laid her on her changing table,
put my hand up to spank her little chubby leg,
looked into her vibrant blue eyes, and saw…..
myself as a child.
spank….spank.
In the Christian circles I run in, this topic is always up for discussion…"did you count to three before you spanked her?" "Should i spank her when she pitches a fit?" But what do say when you are suffering from the effects of your abusive childhood? Do you even bring up the questions with your mom group and friends? do you just say, as everyone is talking, "hey guys, should i spank her even though I'm suddenly crying and remembering how I would get chased into my room, beat up, and then left to cry until my face turned splotchy, and wake up and go to school the next morning with puffy eyes. I was left to feel discarded. Abandoned. Like the "worthless piece of nothing" she told me i was.

i have felt really alone the last year and a half in dealing with all of the affects of being abused. But i have found so much comfort from Jesus. When i was in the depths of figuring out if i would spank maggie or not, i clung to the verse, Psalm 23:4 "Though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

In a way, having maggie has forced me to walk back through that valley of a childhood I lived in. Those same feelings of worthlessness, fear, pain, and dread filled me to the brim every time maggie would disobey. "what do i do now?" i would ask myself, 'should i spank her? If i do, will it scar her?" (No, i know it will not scar her, but my mind sees any type of hitting touch as 'bad touch' because of the violence in my home). In these moments, i learned to turn to jesus, to cling to him and know that he would guide me in this and everything with maggie. It has been a long dark road, and i am beginning to see the light. I no longer care if people understand me and what i went through as a child. if you haven't been abused, mocked. mistreated, and scorned, then you won't even begin to understand what it does to your brain.
But Jesus has. Isaiah 53:3 has comforted me in times of weeping and sorrow. It says, " He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Jesus went through way more pain than i have gone through on this earth, so when i go to Him in tears because i look in maggies eyes and think, "how could someone have treated me this way?" He gets it. And He has been there. And He died for the people that treated Him like dirt. And He died for the people that treated me like dirt. And I am free to love them because my love doesn't come from me anyway, it comes from Him. More than anything, my heart longs for friends who will let me be the broken woman that i am. Let Jesus heal me in His timing. let it take the lifetime that it will take-walking through life as a mama to maggie is how God is allowing me to heal, to set new patterns in my family and to look her in the eyes and say, i love you because you're you, because you're made in God's image, and no matter what, i will always love you.

Tonight, i was reminded once again why God allowed me to go through being abused as a child. Jake and i were out on a date at a japanese restaurant and some girls and their boyfriends from high school set down beside us. As the chef was cooking our food, we began to make small talk with two of the girls. Eventually, jake showed them a picture of maggie. And we got on the topic of me being a mom. And i got to tell the story. The awful, awesome story of how God gave us a child and brought healing and hope into my family. How God brought a baby and gave us restoration and forgiveness, apologies and tears. And they both opened up to us. And told us they were from abusive homes.
My heart ached, because in that moment i knew i was doing what God wanted me to do with my story-to proclaim freedom for the captives, to tell them, God still loves you and He has a plan for your life. And to listen. To listen to those girls, those beautiful girls, who, on the outside looked a lot different than me, but on the inside, both just wanted their daddies to say, "You are beautiful. I love you daughter." And i got to tell them the story of how when i was 20 i finally heard God loudly say to me,
You are beautiful.
You are not worthless.
I am glad you were born.
I have always loved you and will alway love you.
I am committed to you forever.

And one of the saddest, most heart-wrenching moments of the night was when Jake got up to use the bathroom, and one girl leaned over to me and said, "y'all are the sweetest, cutest couple ever. And you have the most precious baby ever." And i wanted to weep right there in front of them and say, "We are the same inside. God wants to give you a beautiful life. God wants to heal your broken heart." And it was so sad, yet so beautiful at the same time, how they both opened up with Jake, and how when they found out he was a dad they felt like they could trust him, and how he did understand them! He understood the pain and suffering they have been going through!
And i thought about it this way-God was so gracious to give me and Jake to each other so that we could understand people who have different stories than our own. how 6 years ago Jake didn't have a heart for abused people, but now, as we were leaving the restaurant, we both said in unison,
Conversations like that make me feel so alive. i feel so at home when i'm talking about brokenness.

its because we are at home. we are all at the foot of the cross. all broken. it may not look the same on the outside, but we are desperate and needy for the One who reaches down and comforts us, and will comfort us forever.