Strength not shame

"Survival is your strength not your shame"  Jaycee Lee Dugard

Shame...not the healthy kind that keeps us from running to the store naked.....
but toxic shame....the kind that makes you believe you're wrong...defective.... not good enough. 
Shame....it's power so strong.....it forced me into hiding....living in darkness...holding onto secrets. 
Shame.....the glue that kept me stuck....spinning my wheels..spiraling further down into that black hole.
Shame....made me believe lies.....that I was different....wrong....bad. 

Shame.....it wouldn't let me look in someone's eyes or worse....have them look in mine.  I  knew....if they did....they would see...and know....the truth about who and what I was.

Shame...it covered like a blanket....held on like a leech.....fed beliefs that had been ingrained since I could remember. 

I'm reading Jaycee Durgard's story, A Stolen Life. I was afraid to read it but I wanted to. I wanted to hear her strength.....read her courage... and remind myself that evil can't destroy us if we don't let it. 

Jaycee's story....a reminder of my own in so many ways..... Her words...feelings....thoughts....similiar. Her focus to move forward and her gratitude for all she's been given....the same.  Her words confirm....evil can wield so much damage but it can't steal our souls....not if we don't allow it.  

I wish there was no evil....I wish children everywhere were safe.....I wish only good was in the world. I hate what happened to Jaycee....the years she had to endure evil in its purest form.....and I hate that her kidnappers were free.....to do what they did....and that nobody noticed a girl, a child, held a prisoner in the backyard enduring the worse at the hands of a madman.  And it sickens me to know his partner worked in a senior's home....every day at the end of her shift...going home and participating in evil. 

I want to live alert....aware....of what's happening around me.....Maybe if we all did that.....children wouldn't be taken.....lives wouldn't be destroyed.....and evil would be diminished. 

Connections

"The less you open your heart to others, the more your heart suffers."  Deepak Chopra 

I used to hide from people - I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to be noticed. Constantly being called stupid, worthless, garbage made me feel different.  So I hid - in the drugs, in throwing up, in cutting myself. And I hid by being alone - not letting anyone get close to me...keeping others away - afraid if they got too close they would leave anyways. Their leaving hurt - it hurt too much - so I left and kept leaving. 

I recently watched the movie, "The Proposal." At one point, Sandra Bullock said, 'she had been on her own since the age of 16 and she forgot what it felt like to be part of a family, to have people care, to belong to others, to have someone care enough to give you parts of themselves to carry in your heart.' She also said, 'she learned to be alone and it was better that way.' 

Those words pricked something in me. I've been alone since I was 13 - and before that I wondered the streets late at night...no one caring, no one even knowing I was outside...alone.

I've been on my own fighting to survive....fighting the world - trying to figure things out myself. It's been hard...having nobody there, in your corner, believing in you....wanting the best for you..teaching you tips on how to live...simple everyday things. No one taught me. No one showed me how to do stuff. I lived by my wits and I learned from the professionals who labeled me and street people who were just as broken as me, and from reading and watching movies.

It's hard to not be connected - to not have any family looking out for you - caring about you - teaching you how to live in the world - creating a safe place to fall. 

The past couple of days, a number of people told me they see me as being gentle. They said my girls are incredible - and they think I'm an amazing mom....I felt embarressed listening to them. I love my girls to the moon and back a gizzilion times. I have never wanted them to feel anything I did  - the fear, the shame - the aloneness. 

Many times I feel inadequate being a mom. I've even wondered if I'm good enough to parent my girls in the ways they need...and sometimes I wonder if they'd be better off with someone who was different...who wasn't such a fighter, and who knew more family type stuff. And I don't know if I'm gentle. I still feel like that fighter inside.

Whatever I've become....it's because of Him. He helped me. He gave me that safe place to fall. Not being connected to a family...being on the outside always looking in....not belonging anywhere...made me mad...really angry....But He touched me....Somehow His gentleness made the difference. Because of Him, I didn't want to be angry anymore. 

Connections - For me....it started with Him. Connections - you guys have been the best. In the acknowledgement section of my book, I thank you....You gave me a safe place to fall.....you allowed me to process my stuff right here and to have my voice...You encouraged me....supported me....You listened....you didn't judge....So from the heart of a fighter....I just want to say thank-you.

 

Survival

"I preached to gangs on the streets of Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx - and miracles began to happen." David Wilkerson

     Living on the streets taught me how to survive.  I learned to fight - to get my needs met.

     I rarely had money. When I did - I spent most of it on drugs. A few social workers went to bat for me - arranged to get me bus tickets, food and even clothes. And there was a guy who worked in the kitchen of this Greek restaurant. I'd go see him usually after suppertime. He always had packages of leftover food for me and bones for my dog. When it got really cold out, I went to this downtown shop and the owners let me sleep in the back of their store.

     Surviving. I got really good at it. I figured things out - how to live - how to get by....How to fight for what I needed.

    But there were things about living on the street that was too hard - things that nearly broke me - the creeps, the jerks, the slimy individuals who wanted to take advantage of anyone vulnerable. I felt like prey to them - an animal being stalked - I kept my distance but sometimes, in my naivity, I trusted the sleekness of their words......

     I used to go to this downtown Christian bookstore to shoot up.Their bathroom was clean and they never hasseled me. They were kind and always let me use their washroom. I wonder if they prayed for me. I bet they did. 
     A social worker helped me get off the streets. She set me up in my own apartment. She even managed to furnish it.  One night I sat on the coach in that apartment wanting to shoot up. I was already pretty stoned.  I accidently dropped the lit match. Within seconds the sofa became engulfed in flames. It spread rapidly through that little apartment including all around the doorway. 

     I sat on the floor stunned - listening to the crackling sounds of the flames and the popping and crashing as things broke from the intense heat. I kept coughing from the overwhelming black smoke filling the room, but I didn't move. I didn't try to get out.  I heard a clear voice tell me he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. I kept asking him to tell me what I knew but he just kept repeating he knew and I knew so burn baby burn. 
     Later - I found out that whole apartment had been gutted by the fire. Completely destroyed. The apartment below and the ones next door were not touched by the flames at all.  

     Survival. The streets taught me that. Grace. That's what God taught me. I lived because of His grace. I survived the streets, the fire and so many other horrible things. His grace. It went so far down to pull me out. 
     Survival. I learned to fight on the street. Grace. He taught me love.