own [your] story - a story from a reader

I received an email from a reader who’s sister shared my “Shame – its what’s for dinner” blog with her. She is a Christian and wanted to share her perspective on shame, grace, and learning to let go. Brene Brown (I know, I’ve been preaching the gospel of Brene Brown a lot for the past few days) talks about “owning your story” and how when you tell your story to a non-judgmental audience, shame can’t disable your spirit.
This reader, who wanted to remain anonymous, owns her story, and I’m so grateful to be able to share it with you. I hope it encourages YOU to own your story.

My story starts twenty-two years ago, when I got married for the first time… I suppose most people’s “lives” begin with they get married, and so it was with me. It was, in retrospect, the first step of a long journey through the desert.

I had already accepted Christ as my Savior years prior to marriage, and when I prayed about my upcoming marriage, I never felt a peace, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, what I wanted to be, I didn’t have a PURPOSE, so I took the first thing offered to me.

After a few months, it was clear that I had made the wrong decision in marrying this man – I was very unhappy and unable to please him – but since I made the choice (against God’s will, in my mind) I felt that I was stuck with it. I made my bed, now I must sleep in it. I stayed in the marriage for 18 years.

Some nights he would come home at 2 or 3 in the morning. On those nights, I prayed “God, please don’t let him come home,” because in my mind, if he made the move to leave, it would be ok: I would be released from this marriage, and I wouldn’t be disappointing God or my family.

Abuse and manipulation were common in our marriage, although I didn’t label them as such. He treated me with disrespect and dishonesty, but I accepted it, knowing that it wasn’t right, but thinking that it wasn’t wrong enough to leave. I just thought that if I could change myself into what he wanted, I would make him happier and he would treat me better.

There were conditions attached to every facet of my life: if I wanted the oil in my car changed, I had to pay him with money or with sexual favors. If I needed the lawn mowed, it was the same scenario. Nothing was for free, and I was caught in a cycle of fear of disappointing him or having his anger hang over my head.

I just thought that if I wasn’t walking away with black eyes, it wasn’t abuse, but in reality, he was slowly breaking down my spirit and will; I found myself years later merely a shell of the woman I was when I married him.

During all this, I still prayed and read the Bible and went to church, but I felt distant from God: my relationships were full of distrust and fear, so it was hard to believe that God really had my best interests at heart.

When my kids got older, I made the decision to go back to school. I had married right out of high school, but I wanted more from my life. I wanted to go to school and open my own business, and have a way of not always being indebted to my husband, so I applied for a grant and to my surprise, I got it, and it paid for my school completely. After finishing school, I opened a business that took off immediately, and for the first time in my adult life, I had money and education and independence. I was finally growing into myself and independence felt good on me.

The more independent I became, the more my husband reacted with petulance and anger. He wanted me to be in debt to him, he wanted to be the buffer between me and the world; he wanted control, and for the first time, I was taking control of my own life.

If school was my first step toward independence and “owning” my life, realizing that I could not stay married to an abusive man was my first time to run. After many prayers and tears, wondering if God would forgive me, wondering if I would disappoint him, wondering how in the world this Southern girl with deep Christian roots would ever tell her family that she was getting a divorce, I made the decision.

I finally came to realize that, while I believe divorce is wrong, if God could forgive me for making the wrong decision so many years ago when I married in the first place, God could certainly forgive me making the decision to leave the abuse behind me. When I made that choice and followed through, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders – the burden of trying to please a man who could not be pleased, the burden of trying to be someone I’m not, the burden of living an inauthentic life.

Of course, after the divorce, my life didn’t become roses – I continued to struggle for years with what my purpose was, and how to be authentic. I took the edge off with drinking and relationships and distractions. I hid from myself and my destiny.

I wish I could say that from the time I took control of my life and made a healthy decision for myself and my children that I was always in the middle of God’s will for me, but, honestly, I was still wandering in the desert just like the Israelites did. They would straighten up as soon as God swooped in and rescued them from whatever trouble there was, but then in two seconds flat, they were back to getting into more trouble – leading disastrous, childish lives. Although I was free from an abusive marriage, I could not see beyond my freedom to the purpose or path God had for me. I could not be vulnerable, I could not feel, I had closed my emotions to everyone around me.

 About a year and a half ago, I was at church (pretending to have it all together) and a video played – “Its Friday but Sunday’s comin’”  and I heard God’s voice in my own life – and he didn’t speak of disappointment or judgement. He spoke about HOPE. The video talked about Jesus dying on the cross, and he was alone, and it seemed like the world could not get any darker for anyone. Jesus was dead and buried. But the thing is, God knew that Sunday was coming. God could see hope and a future (and a resurrection) when no one else could. I felt like God spoke to me through Jeremiah 29:11 that day: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”

Falling into that grace was effortless at that moment, and I grabbed onto those words – a hope and a future – and held on with both hands. Through the confrontation of my ex, where I asked him to forgive me for things I had done wrong, and I forgave him and let go of what he had done to me. Through panic attacks and shame about my past and the mistakes that I had made. Through fear of failure and through doubt in myself and the world around me. The voices in my head were condemning, critical and had a complete disregard for what I thought the Lord had told me about my hope and my future.

I had grabbed onto the hope and future promise as a lifeline, dug my nails in deep, and held on tightly. I was going to “help God” make that happen for me. I must stay in control. Until one day, I let it go. In the midst of a panic attack when the voices were roaring at me from all sides, I got on my knees and I laid my shame and my control issues all down at the foot of the cross. Then I walked away.

Trust. Vulnerability. Faith. I embraced them, and settled into the discomfort of giving up control and shame.

Do I still want to pick up my shame and walk away with it, letting it settle down on me like an old friend? Sometimes.

Do I still want to take back control and stop releasing myself into the grace I believe in? All the time.

Am I still afraid of trusting, afraid of what faith misplaced will do to me, afraid of breaking? A resounding YES.

But I believe that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13), and that includes letting go.

I still struggle with all of this, I still struggle with my ex and our shared children. Vulnerability and trust are a constant battle in my present marriage, and I still feel like I’m nowhere near where I should be and where I need to be, but I’m a whole lot closer than I was.

And now I don’t have to grip hope with both hands. It is part of who I am.

**Thanks to the reader who emailed me with this story and wants to remain anonymous. Your story will touch more lives than you know. Thank you for being vulnerable.**