Dearest Friends,
Today I saw a boomerang of my and Ben’s feet strolling down a NY street. And it got me thinking about the importance of moving in the same direction as your mate.
Are you and your partner walking in stride with each other?
My ex and I never were. And when I thought we were, his deception was always revealed over time.
I longed to move forward, growing in God and thus growing in myself.
I wanted to pursue my dream of modeling and acting, but his jealous and lack of support made it clear I had to choose him.
He fought maturing like a modern day Peter Pan.
Me, me, me, party, party, party!
I was never a partier. But occasionally I’d attend one, a soul known to enjoy myself no matter the location. At a party I was usually dancing not drinking. It never really interested me. Even now I don’t drink.
Although I’m childlike in my mannerisms and bouncy spirit, I’ve forever been in love with the wisdom of those older than me.
Fine, he wanted to party. Not a problem if one is honest with oneself.
Through more than one conversation I shared I got it, and he could do him, but it wasn’t the lifestyle I desired for myself.
He’d say he’d change.
I’d stay.
He wouldn’t change.
I’d still stay.
He could hold up the ruse for a couple weeks before I’d realize it was just that.
He was good at pretending.
At lying.
At talking me back from the ledge each time I once again declared I’d had enough.
But his words were sweet.
I’d make myself sick on them, greedily eating every lie he fed me.
They sounded so much better than what I found out to be true.
Relentless, I’d suck on the agave soaked manipulation before finally succumbing to the delusion that I actually liked the taste of them on my tongue.
The longer I partook, the easier it became to swallow them down.
I began telling myself the lies that he’d told me—shown me, repeatedly.
And when exposed once more, I’d create and recite another lie to sample.
But I wasn’t the only creator.
His narratives were a benefit to him.
Mine were a necessity to survive.
——
When we’re taught a distorted version of God’s love, it f*cks you up and distances you from others and the One who has all the answers.
Because when you’re taught Christianity is the only true religion and that everyone else’s beliefs are wrong, it molds you into an intolerant person. It makes you judgmental, and it seats you upon a high-horse.
And then if you are like me, with a desire to help everyone & see them happy, you become a Lifesaver.
Everyone you meet is a mission. “Have you heard the good news?” is forefront in your mind. Am I being a good Christian? Wait, I have to put them before me. Let me stay in their life as a good influence—if I just show them unconditional love, they’ll know how God is and wanna get to know HIm.
These are a few of the streams of consciousness that journeyed back and forth in my conditioned mind for decades.
God is God
I am not God
—bottom line.
But because His Word was distorted through disciplinary behaviors, subduing, shaming, and miseducation, I was blinded from understanding the dire need for boundaries.
I had a savior complex, thinking I was helping people. And maybe I did help some people, but I was hurting myself desperately.
Empathy is one thing, but crying bitterly for another individual’s toxic relationship or obsessing in your analysis of why a person is the way they are, and how you can help them, is overboard—over boundaries.
It was self-created and perpetuated anxiety, and I had no idea.
It was focusing on others so much I never focused on my own self.
Growing up without a biological father, and with one who claimed the title but needed to embrace his own healing, I hadn’t a clue about what a man was.
I knew how I wanted to be treated, but I didn’t know how to make sure I was treated that way. I needed to know how you weren’t supposed to reveal too much about yourself because it could be weaponized. I needed to know that yes I was attractive, despite what my majority white school thought—or rather told me.
I needed to know that if a man treats you horribly, and you stay, he’ll never have respect for you.
You’ll always be treated less than.
I didn’t know.
So I stayed.
For five years.
Thank God for His mercy, and His grace “to work all things together for our good,” because when I was raped–I was set free.
A blessing in disguise.
Experiencing my only fear in life is what unchained me from my ex’s ironclad grasp.
When he blamed me for the attack, it was the one lie I couldn’t rationalize and swallow down.
I was free.
And I had been gifted genuine empathy.
No longer would I question people or obsess over why they were the way they were.
I would simply feel compassion, pray for them, and move on, knowing we are all hurting and have no idea what another is going through. But God does. And only He knows what changes hearts.
And we don’t need to know.
We just need to realize that everyone is doing the best with where they currently are in life.
We are all allowed to evolve.
So set boundaries. Gift grace.
Trauma changes us all.
Sincerely,
A Woke Woman
Prncsslyssaart 