“Without consultation, plans are frustrated, but with many counselors they succeed.” Proverbs 15:22
We know there is wisdom in the counsel of many. Even in the midst of overwhelming heartache and confusion, we may have some vague idea of what we want or need to do, but out of a sincere desire to do the right thing, we prefer to secure a measure of validation from others before we proceed.
Unfortunately, when dealing with an abusive spouse, some of our most well-meaning advisers may offer up various measures of godly-sounding legalism rather than the kind of balanced, practical support that the one living in the cross-hairs of an abuser desperately needs.
If you have followed me for any period of time or read some of my articles, you may know that I encourage those in abusive relationships to trust their instincts, to listen to what their hearts – and the Spirit of God – are saying to them. Please forgive what may be redundant for some of you, as I share an important message with those who may need it.
Unfortunately, I learned the hard way the value of listening to that Voice above all others – even my own. As a believer in Jesus and the living God who sent Him, I believe that our instincts are absolutely connected to the presence of the Spirit moving in our lives. Yet how often do we choose to diminish, ignore or override what we sense to be right or wrong? The issue is whether we are willing to live our lives without apology in the light of an uncomfortable truth or choose instead to defer – even with the best of intentions – to other, lesser voices.
“For it is not an enemy who reproaches me, then I could bear it; nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me, then I could hide myself from him. But it is you, a man my equal, my companion and my familiar friend…” Psalm 55:12-13
Betrayal.
I’m almost certain that the majority of those who read this have at one time or another experienced the trauma of betrayal, a moment when someone you trusted broad-sided you, leaving a cavernous wound on your heart – the gravest kind of wound, the kind of wound that may never really heal completely. It is a wound that has changed the way you see people and perhaps even made you cynical as to whom you may be willing to trust going forward and to what degree.
You didn’t do anything to deserve what that person did to you, but he or she did it anyway. Your trust was so steady that you didn’t see it coming, never imagined for a moment that your spouse or friend or family member was capable of inflicting such pain without flinching, without remorse, without regret.
The knowledge of what that person did produced – and may still incite – an ongoing and perhaps overwhelming burden of grief, doubt or even despair.
Yet even as you try to move on and live as though the matter has been addressed, the secret burden remains, and you may even feel guilty or wonder whether you have become bitter because you can’t seem to shake it, can’t figure out a way to get past it. The traumatic event is replayed over and over again in your mind, as you try to reconcile what you experienced with what you believed.
Then there are those who will tell you, “It’s time to get over it. Forgive as Christ forgave you. Remember that love covers a multitude of sins. Seventy times seven.” But those easily offered platitudes may do nothing to explain what transpired or do anything to help heal the wound.
No doubt you have tried to let it go and move on. But the question haunts you: Why? Did your offender betray you out of selfishness or resentment or envy? Did you unintentionally offend them in some manner that could justify their decision to come against you so cruelly? Did your relationship mean so little that sacrificing your heart to their will constituted a moment of pleasure or victory for them?
Those of you who have been betrayed may never really understand why it happened. But the bottom line is that you were betrayed. And although your offender’s actions were a reflection of their character, not yours, the questions remain: How can you fully trust anyone ever again? How can you keep from being blindsided the next time? How will the wound ever heal?
I believe the answers lie in time and truth.
Time: No one – and I mean no one – can tell you how long you are allowed to grieve such a deep wound. That is between you and God. And grieving requires acknowledging:
the one who inflicted the wound;
the possibility that your offender may never be safe for you;
the depth of the pain associated with the event itself; and
(perhaps most importantly and the most difficult part of all); an understanding that neither your offender nor the offense committed against you hold the power to define you.
It may take time – a great deal of time – but I know that every one of us has an opportunity as well as the privilege and God-given authority to relinquish our identity as a victim and walk in our identity as a victor. And, yes, ultimately it will be to your benefit to forgive your offender. Doing so does not obligate you to return to relationship but simply releases you from the unhealthy bond you have with that person.
Truth: I think it is important to acknowledge that our Lord understands betrayal. He was betrayed too, not only by Judas, but by each one of us at one time or another. And He saw it all – everything that happened to you. He knows full well the weight of the grief you carry.
Identifying the truth in your life also means seeing past the person you thought your offender was and seeing more clearly the nature of his or her heart and motives, whatever they may be. Perhaps that person has acknowledged what happened and apologized. But only you know whether that apology was sincere and whether it justifies the risk of entering into relationship again. Trust your instincts and measure the risk, no matter what anyone else imposes upon you as your obligation.
Ultimately, the truth is that you may never receive the kind of resolution you seek with the one who inflicted that terrible wound, but you can receive healing from the nail-scarred hands of the ultimate Healer and walk in the victory and peace He has already secured for you. That is what I would wish and hope for – for all who know the trauma and heartache of betrayal.
“As for me, I shall call upon God, and the Lord will save me. Evening and morning and at noon, I will complain and murmur, and He will hear my voice. He will redeem my soul in peace from the battle against me…” Psalm 55:16-18a
“When I try to talk to him, he treats me like I’m his enemy.”
These are some of the things abuse victims might say when they share with me how they try to communicate with their abuser*.
I want those of you who can empathize with those sentiments to understand that there is no real misunderstanding. The man hears you, he wants you to feel crazy, and it’s not surprising that he is treating you like you are his enemy, because that’s pretty much the way he sees you.
Healthy communication and conflict is part of any relationship, and all of our communication should begin with a recognition of our many differences coupled with a desire to find compromise and meet one another’s needs.
But abusers are not interested in reason or resolution. Even though you may approach him in a moment of calm and everything you say may make perfect sense, the truth is that he is not the least bit interested in what you have to say. Furthermore, the fact that you have to find just the right moment to talk to him may be evidence of just how risky trying to communicate with him really is…
As you are speaking – trying to find just the right words to keep him from attacking you – know that he is probably strategizing as to how he can twist your words and turn them back on you. Expect any comeback to be irrational or unnecessarily harsh, coupled with a how-dare-you, who-do-you-think-you-are kind of attitude.
The truth is that he
views your attempt at finding compromise as a design to undermine him. In his mind, you are trying to claim for
yourself some measure of power he holds – power he has no intention of
relinquishing.
His over-the-top response speaks to his agenda. He wants you to become so frustrated that you will simply give up and leave him alone. He also wants to make sure you understand that any future efforts to petition for help or positive change will be met with similar ferocity.
He is neither ignorant
nor innocent. He doesn’t care if your
requests are legitimate or if you are hurting.
He only cares about his absolute right to have his way in everything all
the time.
When it comes to communicating with an abuser, you really can’t. He only hears what he wants to hear and will vigorously reject everything else. That doesn’t make him right. It just means that you are seeing who he really is.
It’s not your fault. It’s that his mind is set. As difficult as it may be to accept, you need to understand that it’s not that he doesn’t know how to communicate; it’s that he is actually a master communicator when it comes to knowing how to shut you down, shut you out and shut you up.
No matter how badly you want to find a way to make it work, communication requires two people willing to listen to one another, while the abusive relationship is, in fact, a dictatorship.
“Rescue me, O Lord, from evil men; preserve me from violent men who
devise evil things in their hearts… they sharpen their tongues as a serpent;
poison of a viper is under their lips.” Psalm 140:1-3 (in part)
*Although abusers may be of either gender, the overwhelming majority of abusers are male; therefore, the abuser is referenced in the masculine. The reader’s understanding is appreciated.
“I feel like I’m either too much or not enough,” my then-teenage daughter shared in a moment of heart-wrenching vulnerability. She shared the words tentatively – almost apologetically – with tears brimming in her eyes, like she was revealing a deep, dark secret that no one else could possibly understand.
They were words that had been holding her captive for a good part of her adolescent life. The messages spawned fears about her own value and identity, the result of words spoken and wounds inflicted by others in her life. And as the words fell from her lips, I inwardly groaned.
It was easy to hold her and grieve with her, knowing that she had been carrying the weight of that terrible self-doubt for many months and maybe years. I assured her that she was absolutely worthy of love and more than adequate in every way that mattered. Yet even into her adult life, she battled the messages, having felt those pronouncements upon her life issued by some of the young men she dated, whether through words, attitudes or actions.
Those words painfully identify what I believe may be a common belief system and perhaps an ongoing struggle for many of us.
The implications of such a profoundly destructive declaration over our own lives cannot be understated:
It seems I am too much. I am too high-maintenance, too much of a burden, a perpetual inconvenience. I am unworthy of anyone’s devoted time and attention.
It seems I am not enough. I am inferior in a thousand ways to just about everyone else. I don’t measure up. I am unworthy of love and affection.
Not only did I adopt those messages into my own life from a young age, but there are times they still haunt me.
My mother divorced my father when I was five, my sisters then nine and 12. We saw our father occasionally, but it felt like glorified babysitting more than quality time together. Soon after the divorce, my father married a woman with two children of her own, and she did not care a whit about me or my sisters.
My mother worked full-time. While she fulfilled her primary roles as a provider, she preferred to spend any free time in outings and hobbies that didn’t include us. While my sisters leaned on one another, I was the loner. I learned from a young age that my role was not to need my mother or ask for much of anything. It seemed she viewed me as little more than an obligation and a burden.
I was too much for her.
I tried to earn her love and approval. I got good grades, avoided getting into trouble and basically stayed out of her way. But my good grades didn’t yield any measure of praise; they were simply to be expected. When I was 11, some of my friends urged me to audition for a solo in our elementary school Christmas program. But when I told my mom I was considering auditioning, she responded coldly, “Why would you want to do that?” It was clear to me that she believed I would only embarrass myself – or her. So I didn’t even try.
I was not enough.
When I began dating in my later teen years, a few caring and personable young men expressed an interest in me, but it was I who almost always ended the relationships before they began. I had a deep-seated fear that they would see through me – how inadequate and broken I was. Surely they would quickly come to recognize that I was unworthy of their time and attention. Rather than face that kind of rejection, I chose to beat them to the punch. I wasn’t confident enough, strong or emotionally healthy enough. And as I looked at the other girls in my circle, I felt certain that I wasn’t pretty or outgoing enough either.
Then there were the guys who were more sarcastic and disrespectful. The feminine gender’s romantic, sentimental hearts were seen as an annoyance. Girls were really only good for one thing. Consequently, some young men treated me as though I should feel gratified to receive whatever paltry measure of attention they conceded to extend. Their attitudes and behaviors told me that I was too much – someone to be tolerated rather than appreciated. I was made to feel like I was too girly, too emotional and too needy.
Every shake of the head and every slight served to solidify those untruths and added to my belief that somehow everyone around me was superior to me, while I felt like a pretender.
Based on my history, it is no surprise to me that I married an abuser. The man I married was obsessed with me. I figured no one would ever love me like he did. He also had some health issues, which provided me with the opportunity to prove that I could love sacrificially while being low-maintenance at the same time. Our marriage could prove that I was enough without being too much. It felt like a valid perspective at the time.
True enough, the messages I had come to accept about myself and those around me made me an ideal victim. Throughout my abusive marriage, I received more of the same messages, that I was too much of a logistical, financial and emotional burden, and never quite worthy of his love, respect or protection. I sacrificed my value to accommodate the lie.
That was then; this is now.
For the past 13 years, I have been married to the best man I have ever known. When we first began to get acquainted, one of the first words I used to describe myself was “independent.” I saw that quality as a strength. As I came to know Doug, he told me that he knew what that word really meant, and that it kind of broke his heart.
He said that he knew I had no choice but to be independent, because I didn’t have anyone in my life who looked out for me, protected me, someone I could always count on to be my defender, my safe place.
He was right. And although I was touched by his perceptiveness, I was also terrified that he could see my wounds and longings so clearly. But how affirming it was to be able to finally bring the shield down, to know that when I was with him I was free to be less than perfect and vulnerable because he saw me as worthy of love – an overwhelmingly gracious, giving, protective, all-in, no-regrets kind of love. Whatever my shortcomings, Doug has never failed to assure me that I am never too much and always more than enough.
None of us is perfect, nor were we ever meant to be. We were created with our own unique gifts and strengths to complement one another.
Even knowing this, I confess there are times I occasionally struggle with doubts about my worth. I will quickly apologize for the slightest oversight, and my daughter still has to remind me to claim my space at the shopping mall. Sometimes I still feel guilty asking for help, or feel badly because things don’t turn out the way I planned, or I feel guilty for purchasing some small thing that makes me happy. After all these years, I am still trying to absorb the fact that I matter. I know I need to declare the truth and live like I believe it:
I am not too much, and I am more than enough.
Maybe you need to declare this too. If so, do yourself a favor and take a moment to rebuke the lies and speak that powerful, life-giving truth into your own life. Let me assure you…
You are not too much.
You are more than enough.
“…now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired. If they were all one member, where would the body be? But now there are many members, but one body. And the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”; or again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” On the contrary, it is much truer that the members of the body which seem to be weaker are necessary; and those members of the body which we deem less honorable, on these we bestow more abundant honor, and our less presentable members become much more presentable, whereas our more presentable members have no need of it. But God has so composed the body, giving more abundant honor to that member which lacked, so that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another.”
