Here's My Mess

I'm back in my home. I've been here for almost three weeks and since I've been holding my breath so long not knowing how to behave and what to do and how in the world to find normal, I've started turning a little blue. I feel depressed without much desire to pull myself out of it. I'm overwhelmed by the normal housewife responsibilities. Jack helps me so much around the house but I still feel suffocated by the mundane never-ending tasks that zap the oomph right out of me.

I am hiding. 

I've seen one friend and my husband's family since I've been back. I can't tell if I'm ashamed to be back or not. There are many who disagreed with me leaving, and probably just as many who think I've made a foolish choice to return. I feel the righteous thoughts of some who think I've finally gotten right with God by returning. Some think I'm heroic for leaving and returning. Some are scared for me. Some feel my choice to return will have a dangerous effect on my son.

I don't carry all of the fear to the extent many feel it. I also don't feel the jubilation that others have expressed. It's an odd flatline. I'm the undead tormented zombie who has been through too much trauma to identify with any of the ranges of emotion of those around me. I'm just existing. I don't want to see or hear their overjoyed reactions to my return because I'm still filled with fear and caution. I also don't want to be coddled like I'm such a "trooper" who has been a big girl this year... I despise every reaction to myself others might have. Probably because I've heard every one of them dismissed in my head by the projected feelings of others on every side of the situation.

I'm also hiding because I've gained so much weight since I've been gone that my wardrobe barely fits me. The rolls are showing. Shame pushes down on me and I don't want to be seen. I'm thankful for the coming fall and winter. I'll be able to hide under sweaters and beautiful scarves soon. Right now I can only use perfectly manicured toenails (minus my embarrassingly dry heals) and my wonderful son to take the attention away from my butterball physique. ("No wonder he wasn't all that into, you, Meg. Look at yourself"... says myself to me.) I dread seeing family that is coming into town this weekend because there's no way to hide my embarrassing changes. I'm actually praying for a cold snap.

I am full of fear. 

Who is this man that I share a bed with? In many ways he is the old Jack that I knew and loved, but for some reason I can't seem to erase from my memory the monster that took form when I challenged his distorted thinking. A monster that he says only ever existed because we misunderstood each other. And then my mind goes in circles again over my distinct memories that have no explanation or validation.
Dear Lord, where is the relief?

I am angry. 

I don't want to talk to God. After all, I'm not returning under the circumstances that I thought would exist when I darkened my door again. Instead of profuse apologies I understand the general feeling is that I was wrong to have left, but they'll overlook it all anyway (and I should be so grateful). But I know that God never signed the dotted line on my "if / then" contract outlining the perfect situation to which I would return. However we both did sign the "I will obey and He will lead" contract.   So I fulfilled my end even though I did it kicking and screaming in my heart. In my life, it takes a huge life shattering experience to even come close to letting my hand slip out of the Father's loving hold. To look at Him questioningly: "I thought I could trust You, Daddy. I did everything I thought you wanted me to do, but they're saying that I did the wrong things. What is happening and why do you allow me to be shamed for my obedience? "  Who is this God that I follow? Where are the blessings for my excruciating obedience?

A friend said to me recently that I was holding onto fear (understandably) and if I would let go of it and turn from it, trusting in God, that's where the blessings would flow that He so desperately wants to give me.

It seems that doing this would involve me embracing my husband without any reservation whatsoever in my heart. We've been doing a good deal of embracing, but I must confess that there is a thread of caution, holding back and eyes wide open. I hate that. I hate what sin has caused me to deal with and fight against. I'm completely jealous of women who have no reasons to doubt their husband's faithfulness. No dark past. No devastating past to hide from people. No reason to become nauseated at the thought of making love to their husbands. Nothing vile to clean up, no traumatic memories to push away... How do I get past all of it?

I don't want to run to Jack, and I don't want to run to God right now even though I know deep down that it's the running into God's arms that will free me of all of this. No one seems trustworthy at the moment - even though I know it's not true.

How long will I wait? I don't know.

Two Angers, an Extra Large Angst and a Side of Guilt, Please...

The emotions. Oh, the emotions. Almost two years of swirling, twirling, stomach twisting, sickening emotions have dizzied me in its kaleidoscope of fiery reds, jealous greens and depressing blacks. Never-ending, ever-changing, fluctuating in extremes, these emotions take me down, fire me up, and then leave me exhausted but unable to rest. 

Normally, for me there is the deep hurt coupled with not being allowed to feel so hurt. When my husband minimizes his actions, then I minimize the hurt I feel. I'm not allowed to suspect I'm suffering from PTSD. I'm making too much of my pain. I'm a hypochondriac. I'm too sensitive. I've misunderstood him. He didn't mean to... So I minimize it, right after I share it with someone. "But I'm okay. . . It will be fine. . . I'm not the only one to go through this. . . " etc.  

But today, I'm angry. My Father is also angry and that somehow frees me from my usual side of guilt. 

I'm tired of the subtle manipulation. I'm tired of the secretive guilt trips I'm forced to take that are veiled in doing what's best for someone else or for the Lord's glory or for our marriage. I'm sick of the lying. Gag me with the word parsing and literalism. I'm offended by the rotten attitude and the antithesis of a contrite heart that seethes and boils under the surface. It looks inviting, but don't jump in. The water is not fine.

Tonight, I sat as far away in the house from my parents as I could and tried to focus on my dry reading assignment while desperately hoping to drown out the sound of my Dad's voice with a small stack of cookies. I should have chosen something more crunchy. 

My Dad and my husband have been communicating lately, and it hasn't taken very long for my Dad to become completely fed up with the charade. He's wasting his time, and he knows it. As he dictated an email to my husband for my Mom to type, Proverbs 9 rang in my ears at the same time.

"Whoever corrects a scoffer gets himself abuse, and he who reproves a wicked man incurs injury. Do not reprove a scoffer, or he will hate you; reprove a wise man, and he will love you. Give instruction to a wise man, and he will be still wiser; teach a righteous man, and he will increase in learning." Proverbs 9:7-9

How do you know you've got a scoffer on your hands? When you correct him in a godly way and he doesn't love you in return or even thank you. We are actually commanded to stop. I've already stopped but I guess my Father wants to go at it for a few more rounds. I don't want to know the details. I'm quite sick enough responding to the emails that my husband and I are returning to each other.

I wanted to curl up and be distracted from the storm that is tearing its way through the house. I want to take my sweet son and cover him up and protect him from all the negative effects that his father might obliviously expose him to.

Dear Lord, this is the biggest mess in the history of messes.

BUT....
He knows the secrets. He knows what is at the root that, when finally dealt with, will cause all the symptoms and peripherals to simply fall away.

Until then, I have to just hold on tight and stay close to the Master while the storm rages on. I ride the waves of my emotions while being anchored to the One who never changes. I correct my thinking by His Word. I rebuke myself as He shows me my own sin. And I survive the next moment and the moment after that knowing that one day, the storm will blow over and I will be stronger and look more like Jesus for having held on.