When I looked at the date of my last post, I about fell over. I wish I could blog here every day or so, but time is just not in my favor right now. My husband is still working very long days, at least six days a week, and the kids are out of school and keeping me running. I look forward to a slower pace and a return to a more desirable "normal"... and a return to this blog and my friends here!
I was talking with my oldest son the other day about his favorite family activities that stand out in his memory. So many of the things he spouted off were things I never experienced myself as a child. I am so very happy that my children have so much more than I did, but there's still that slight pang of sadness over my lost childhood. As I thought about that for a few minutes, I began to wonder when I'd last spoken with my mother. It was before my birthday, before Mother's Day, before my wedding anniversary (I don't even think she knows when that is)... Honestly, I think it was Christmas. And that was a terrible discussion; the call ended badly. As it sunk in that I haven't spoken with my mother in six months, I began to feel sad and even a little guilty for "not trying hard enough".
I'm sharing this with you because I know this is an all-too-common experience for those of us who are estranged from abusive family members. It is natural - God-designed - that we would desire relationships with our families. What is not natural - not God-designed - is for family members to abuse children and for those children to grow up having to protect themselves from the very people who are supposed to love and protect them.
I do not imagine that I will ever "get over" the estrangement from my family. I will always miss the idea of them. I even miss them to a certain degree. However, one thing that I am NOT is guilty! That is Satan trying to lure me into something that is not true. I am not guilty. I am the innocent survivor of sexual abuse who has been left with no choice but to distance myself and my family to ensure our physical and emotional safety. It is sad that I only talk to my mother by phone a few times a year, and possibly see her once or twice a year. It is sad that as my children get older, they have more questions and put more of the pieces together. They are beginning to realize that my mother is not a safe person for us to be around. Part of me wants to shield my mother from this realization, but that is not my job. My job is, in fact, to do just the opposite. My job is to shield my children from dangerous situations, and that requires informing them that being alone with my mother could be dangerous. This absolutely was not God's design; rather it was my parents' decisions that led us here. As I tread these waters, I lean on Him to lead the way. As each question pops out of my children's mouths, God provides the words for me to answer them. As I mourn the loss of my earthly mother, I am deeply touched and grateful for the perfect and unending love of my Heavenly Father. I praise God for the salvation and restoration found only in Him.
