Tag Archives: Verbal abuse

The Church That Kept Me There

3699-sad woman.220w.tnMy eldest daughter, Charla, recently wrote a paper for her college psychology class about depression and decided to share it with me.  The subject of her paper was her younger brother, Brett, and what he suffered as a young boy in an abusive home.  (You can read Charla’s account of her class presentation here.) 

 I feared that reading my daughter’s words about her brother would reach deep and unveil wounds in me that simply refuse to heal – and they did.  As I read, I was once again compelled to revisit those dark days, and I began to weep to the point that I could scarcely make out the words on the page.  Although her conclusion was positive and encouraging, I had a hard time receiving it.  A decade after our escape, the guilt of remaining with that abusive man as long as I did haunts me still.

Seeing me in engulfed in my regret, my husband wrapped a loving arm around my shoulders and said to me, “Don’t do this to yourself.  Despise the man.”  In a response grounded in unbridled honesty, I lifted my head and half whispered, “And the church that kept me there.” Continue reading The Church That Kept Me There

Charla’s Story About Brett

With her permission, I would like to share this story my eldest child, Charla, wrote for her college psychology class. It is about Brett, my youngest son. I shared an earlier piece about him that you can read here. 

Yesterday, I had a group presentation in my psychology class about depression, bipolar disorder, and suicide.  Each us had a different section and mine was depression.  We agreed to pick real-life examples of people who struggle(d) with each of these things.  At the beginning of our presentation, we had picture cards with a blurb of the person’s story on the back.  We picked several people to get up in front of the class to show the picture and read the blurb to everyone.

My real-life example was about Brett.

An older man, Tom, agreed to read Brett’s story to the class.  On the front of the card was this picture:

brett lil boy

And on the back, Tom read this blurb to the class:

My name is Brett.  I love superheroes, music, and my brother and sister.  I am only 7-years-old when I start going through depression.  My dad is a drug addict and an alcoholic, and he is verbally and emotionally abusive toward me.  My mom tries to protect me, but she has to be away from the house during the day because she works to support our family.  I am afraid to be alone in the house with my dad.  I can’t force myself to smile or laugh.  I spend most days hiding in my room, and eating to make myself feel better.  I don’t believe that anyone truly loves me.  I am not even sure that I am worth loving.

It was so touching because, during the middle, Tom got all choked up and he struggled to finish reading it.  As he went to sit down, my professor said, “Wow.  That must’ve been really hard to read.”

Later on in my presentation, I shared a bit more of Brett’s story with this slide: Continue reading Charla’s Story About Brett

The Heart’s Sweet Lie

 

everything will be alright_multiples“The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?”  Jeremiah 17:9

I tromped downstairs in my usual stupor one weekday morning to brew a fresh pot of coffee before heading to work and found our black Labrador, Belle, at the foot of the stairs, wagging her tail enthusiastically and prancing about in anticipation of her breakfast.  On most days, one of the kids beats me to the task, yet Belle has learned that if she puts on a good show, she might succeed in convincing me or any other unsuspecting family member who ventures downstairs later in the morning that she is famished.  Our clever dog has often enjoyed a second meal before one of us realizes that we have been duped by her well-rehearsed antics. Continue reading The Heart’s Sweet Lie

Waiting At the Window

2013-05-09-17-09-51-150x150“Hope deferred makes the heart sick…” Proverbs 13:12

From a very young age, my second-born son, Brett, was positively delightful.  He had a contagious smile that could light up a room, bright, dancing eyes and a playful, charming, sensitive disposition.  That is the image of Brett I prefer to remember.

But as the years passed, and my marriage began to crumble under the weight of abuse, neglect and drug and alcohol abuse, I saw my happy, fun-loving Brett begin to withdraw.  The slow progression over time transformed Brett from his lively, fun-loving self into a young boy who was sullen and introverted.  Brett struggled in school, spent long hours alone in his room, comforted himself with junk food, or escaped the tension of our home life by immersing himself in movies and video games. Continue reading Waiting At the Window

Seven Long Years

“Time, whose tooth gnaws away at everything else, is powerless against truth.” – Thomas Huxley

The above quote has become one of my favorites because I am certain that, in the end, the truth will be revealed.  I also know that some lies are served up so consistently and convincingly that it can be difficult to see what is true through the thick fog of deception, and there is no way of knowing how much time may pass before the truth is clearly visible.  It was for seven long years that such a fog succeeded in alienating my son from me.

My story is not uncommon.  I know many parents who have either lost – or fear losing – their children to a lie, and it is for this reason I have chosen to share this story.

After separating from my abusive husband, it was not long before he went on the offensive.  He began to offer up a fictitious history about our marriage, to plant seeds of doubt about my character, my commitment and my faith in the minds of those willing to listen.  He also used the time he spent with our four children to attempt to undermine my credibility in their young eyes. Though he urged secrecy from them, they would sometimes hesitantly pose questions to me regarding damning falsehoods their father had shared about me. The woman he described to our kids was someone I did not know, and there were occasions when I was put in the awkward position of having to correct our kids’ understanding.  It was heartbreaking to know that our kids had been put into a position where they had to choose whom or what to believe.  For the most part, I felt confident that the significant contrast between our former home life and the new life we had come to appreciate was evidence enough. Continue reading Seven Long Years