Watershed moment 

(warning- mature content.  double warning: LONNGG post.    Process with caution. You might want to pass on this post.  Unless you are in horrible internal turmoil.  Then I gotchyer back friend. 💚

I just listened to a message by Christine Cain on letting go of my past.

I was in the perfect place to hear this message, PAIN being an excellent motivator for change.

………

gobsmacked

ADJECTIVE

British 
informal 

  • Utterly astonished; astounded.

    ‘the locals were gobsmacked when us lot trooped in’

    More example sentences

    Synonyms

Origin

1980s: from gob + smack, with reference to being shocked by a blow to the mouth, or to clapping a hand to one’s mouth in astonishment.

Pronunciation

gobsmacked

/ˈɡɒbsmakt/


……last night I smacked my gob into some old familiar failures of mine.  Parenting failures.  Ouch. Worse than a root canal.
 That feeling sent me looking for hope. In the past, that kind of pain has triggered a binge on my addiction-of-choice. But I’VE  been there. Done that.  Got the t-shirt 👕.  It unfortunately DOES NOT PROVIDE LASTING PAIN RELIEF. so LOOKING TO MY HIGHER POWER NOW MOST DAYS.  Better results.

we ran out of dog food yesterday.

background info: My adult disabled daughter and I had an argument last night.  She did not want to make a beef-broth-rice thingie for the dogs so they could have full tummies for the night until dog food could be purchased. 

 You can probably fill in the blanks there.  I was overidentifying with our pooches and felt she was showing callous indifference.

I wish I’d never said this but I will confess it now.

 “what? They can just go to bed hungry? I hope you treat your future kids better than this, because that’s just mean.”

 She comes back with 

 “You have no right to call ANYONE mean.  You were the worst mom to us when we were little.”

 Silence. Gulp.

 “Yeah.  That’s true.”

Flashback:   I am remembering the door slamming and locking on the jr. Psych ward where my daughter was in lockdown.  (Undoubtedly in part because of poor parenting)  After the twins were born, we put WAY TOO MUCH pressure on our oldest girl to help.  Then we had a traumatic move three states away…and no surprise She started fire setting on her toy box.

my husband and I were scared. No one knew what to do. We took some BAD advice from doctor and therapist and agreed to  put her in the hospital for a week “til her meds could be adjusted”.  

we then proceeded to disassociated EVERY SINGLE TIME we were supposed to call her.

 So.  She was left alone in there with a bunch of unstable kids .At nine years old. God have mercy!

I am remembering, as I write this, times of disassociating and forgetting my kids at the bus stop or the bank or before the Christmas play.  I remember telling a helping professional “it’s like the more important it is for me to be there for my kids, the more likely I will space out and forget the appointment. I just let myself down every time.”. I could see on her face that she didn’t believe me.   Just another flakey addicted mom. 

no one knew how to help us. We were constantly misdiagnosed. I was so earnest and sincere and intelligent and articulate… only “bad” people have problems that severe, right? We were good taxpaying church going folks.

I’m sure the 500 people I asked for help never thought my nice Christian family was in the grip of generational Satanic Ritual Abuse. Least of all me.  The McCoy clan just was a little occult-ey right?  Idiosyncratic and lovably kookey right?  Just a little colorful United States history.

We’re talking about saltoftheearthcookingandcanningpioneermoms here!

 I had never even heard of DID. I just thought I was a bad person. Worthless.  Hopeless.  other people can remember to get their kids from the school bus on time for giblets sake! 

But I had my faith from my grandma.  I had Jesus.  I would not quit asking for help.  

Again. Pain is an excellent motivator.

I remember sending my kids to time out and disassociating and leaving them in their rooms for hours and hours.  No food.  No potty breaks.  I just SPACED OUT on them.  Didn’t even realize I had done it.

My experience as a young mother was a nightmare for all of us.  I can barely write that.

It makes me think of a favorite Rich Mullins song.

“Hold me Jesus

Cause I’m shaking like a leaf

You have been King of my glory.

Won’t ya be my Prince of peace?”

so.  Why AM I writing it?

Good question.

Because I am not the only one.

Half the reason, I believe, we relapse during our recovery is because we have parenting pain.  The other half is probably childhood pain.

I mean, right?  Look at Robin Williams or Michael Jackson or even my mom just off the top of my head!  I AM NOT THE ONLY PARENT who squirms and gasps at the sudden gut-twist of an unexpected memory.  That kind of pain can be lethal.

but

 This 

cannot 

be 

the end.  

God is bigger than that. 

 Look at the cross: humiliating lingering death by torture…Jesus did it voluntarily for me…for all of us.  God turned that into the biggest triumph in the universe.  Because HE’S just like that. 💚 😸🌼💜💙😍

So where do we go from here?  I am not sure.  But I will pray for you as you ask for help. Really mean that. Contact me.

  Jesus is a specialist and he has a HUGE rolodex.  

He can do anything.  Nothing is so messed up that he cannot fix it better than new. 

A place to start might be a good 12step group.  And the power of good therapy that I am invested in canNOT be overemphasized.  I’ve even seen a deliverance minister for a few years as part of my personal journey.  Not for everyone but I found it vital.

you can do this dear heartsore one…I’m here and I check my blog and Facebook several times a week.  There are lots of other good resources out there too.

Let’s see what He does.  He makes train wrecks into things of beauty.  I trust him.  Absolutely. Without question.

gobsmacked

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