I’ve been avoiding pen and paper and the blinker on the blank computer screen. There aren’t a lot of things I can say openly about the horror which surfaced in my counseling session a few months ago. This new flashback – so warped and mind-bending and gut-wrenching – has been too much to bear. I haven’t been able to put it into words for myself, much less release it in a medium to reveal to others. You can’t dumb down the terror for people. It feels like some things just can’t be shared. It’s either incredibly triggering for other survivors or people don’t have any compass for what you’re telling them. So you’re left either triggering someone inadvertently or alienating yourself by making public things no one wants to know.

The poem on my last blog post was written in 2008. I scanned stacks of journals spanning the last quarter of a century and sorted through scraps of paper on which I had scribbled racing thoughts and culled through random decade-old small square bar napkins laden with ink and prose for anything – anything – I could substitute for a current-day blog entry. The poem I eventually found toward the bottom of the pile sufficed and it resonated with who I am today, and that was that. I was begging myself for time to process without being false on this blog where I am “launching into the deep things of the soul and holding nothing back from what I’ve learned”. But that was weeks (now months) ago, and as time has ebbed on, I’ve felt the rift — I’m not writing on this blog. I’m not being honest… I’m most certainly holding back, and I’m most definitely hiding.

I hate hiding.

I’ve never been good at hiding. Not one bit.

So here I am.

~~~~~

I told you a while ago something was invading my peripheral vision – a memory haunted just beneath the surface of my consciousness, lurking. Waiting. Stalking. Watching for the perfect time to rise up from the depths, releasing its pulled-pin grenade into my waking life.

Because of this, my internal guardians have been on higher alert than usual. I can’t help but know the brutal awareness of hidden things aggressively pushing forward. They have a certain volatile energy. The effect of this game of hide-and-go-seek is hypervigilance at all times. ALL TIMES. Like, while washing dishes. Sweeping the floor. Weeding the garden. Cleaning the toilet. Taking a shower. Cooking dinner. Lying down next to my husband at the end of the no-reason-for-the-overwhelming-anxiety day. The Guardians know something is on its way. They are the Watchmen of my soul. They are the first responders to my awakening remembrance of trauma.

Typing this swells tears across my vision along with the accustomed feel of thick, tightening rope around my throat and a baby elephant stomping angry staccatos in place on my chest. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because these Guardians are so damn tired. Every part of me is ripped through with exhaustion. When will these nightmares and memory flashes of abuse and trauma end?!

~~~~~

It doesn’t slip past me I am pouring out bits and pieces of my story in such a public fashion, mostly to unknown people on the internet. But in the words of Will Rogers, “A stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet.” At least this is what I tell myself – “We’re all friends here…” The truth is, the majority of you don’t know my history, my heartbreak, my family of origin, the cult I was raised in, the horrific things done to me as a child, the trauma I survived through adulthood, the unhealthy choices I made out of brokenness, or the immense amount of pain and humility involved in a healing journey of this nature. I suppose that’s why I started this blog – to share the remarkable beauty I’m finding woven throughout all of this mess. This kind of soul-searing pain isn’t worth going through unless it eventually leads to life and hope and helping others somehow…

I acknowledge there is always a risk in baring our souls for others to see – the glory, the murk, the scars, the new blossoms of hope and healing, the signs of fruit born from encountering the Redeemer. To hold back is to stay “safe”. But I keep thinking of the verse which essentially says, “Love lays down its life for another.” If I am sacrificed on the altar of people’s good opinion in order to reach another survivor (of self-inflicted wounding or trauma perpetrated by another or even those burned at the stake by a falsely-religious “church”) so they are brought into the awareness they are not alone, the sacrifice is worth it. It has to be. In the end, it’s not about my good standing in the eyes of the person sitting next to me in the pew or at the Thanksgiving dinner table. It’s about living courageously and openly, revealing my heart in vulnerability so others know – in the hidden crevices of their souls – they are not alone in their private torment or left questioning if they will be loved if their secrets are exposed. If the telling of my truth empowers others to share their truth and therefore experience freedom, isn’t that what helps “heal the soul of the world”? (Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist)

When I stand before God, I want to be able to look Him in the eyes and know without a shadow of a doubt I’ve allowed Him unobstructed, utterly thorough access to these ash heaps of my life so He could do His miracle work and exchange them for what He calls beautiful. And part of that is to openly share my story and journey with others. Because every single person is a survivor in some form or fashion, and there’s nothing the enemy of our souls likes more than twisting our pain in such a way that we hide or feel ostracized and alone in facing it all. The truth is, we’re not alone. We are free to come out of hiding. This is the hope Christ gives us – He came to affirm we are never on our own and He has promised to make all things new. He came to give us life, abundantly; to gather and heal the shattered in heart from whatever wrecking ball hit us straight on. He came to love us completely, and yes – to love those who harmed us.

Yes — He came as the embodiment of Love for all.

~~~~~

I was curled up tight in the fetal position in bed – the inanimate object featured in so much of my trauma – wracked with excruciating pain — physically, mentally and emotionally — and I wished God would just end my time here on Earth. I felt worthless, eaten up with grief and dread and fighting ghosts no one else could see. I believed my life was officially a lost cause.

And then, I got really, really angry.

In that abyss, a vision opened. I rounded up all those abusers and rapists and child molesters and assaulters and sexual harassers in one room, and I held a very large, very powerful weapon. I was about to unleash the wrath of all my pent-up years of torment, and guess who entered the room? JESUS. Beautiful, holy Jesus. But also, Jesus the Judge, the true Terror against any and every evil. “Vengeance is Mine — I will repay!” thundered with the kind of authority that throws you on your face, shocked and trembling and yearning to beg for mercy although all words have fled your mouth — even though you feel you haven’t done anything technically wrong in the current scenario (yet…).

Jesus’ eyes of fire and unshakeable love engulfed me as I peeked up at Him. I cannot even begin to describe the grief that permeated my angry, cavernous heart. All that is hollow and dead in me rushed to the surface. I couldn’t hide from the ugliness done to me or the ugliness I had allowed to dwell within my soul. Then He did something only God could wholly do: He crouched down beside me, entered into my suffering, and gently asked to take on my revenge, to stand in the gap for me. This is what my tiny-girl heart has always wanted: someone in authority to stand up for the injustices and cruelties committed against me. Someone to show all those perpetrators who’s boss! After a few moments of intense internal debate, and yes, mistrust of whether He would really stand up for me, I released my revenge to Him. I watched as He filled up and up and up, expanding until He had taken on EVERYTHING they had ever done to me as well as everything toxic in my life that had spiraled out from those roots of trauma. He bore my terror, my frozen body, my dissociated mind. He embraced my volcanic rage, my dark depression, my never-ending questions, my debilitating panic, my unhealthy coping mechanisms, my deep-seated desire for safety, acceptance and control. He soaked up my angst and the poison of bitterness of soul. He laid Himself down in the gap of inhumanity, unbearable torture and soul-splintering shame, and covered me in my wrath and woe. He blanketed my body’s nakedness, quieted my mind’s desperation, and gathered up all the fragments and particles comprising my wrung-out, shattered, exposed heart. His healing love was making me whole from before the beginning of the trauma.

And as He loved me, He loved them…

Yes. You read that correctly: He recognized and took into account the actions of those who had tormented me as a little girl, those who had abused and terrorized me as a young woman and who took gross advantage of me in my adulthood, and still loved them. Jesus’ greatest revenge against the evil in them was to love them wholly, unconditionally, unequivocally…just as He loved me.

After my initial shock of, “You didn’t decimate them?!”, the realization slowly dawned and the knowledge began to expand through and through just how awesome, how powerful, how holy His love truly is.

Don’t get the meaning behind my words twisted – He doesn’t ever condone or accept evil. In fact, He is so radically opposed to evil and darkness and pain that He chose to take it all on Himself at the Cross of Calvary so He could fully stand in our place.

This is where we truly see the power of the love of God – and it changes EVERYTHING.

God’s love disables the works of darkness – the eternal effects of the evil done against us is made null and void. Because of the love of God, we are walking into the awareness of our new identity as healed, hope-filled, courageous and compassionate conquerors of the Light. We are familiar with the reality of darkness and know the Light within us can never be extinguished. And this makes us incredible warriors, willing to fight for those still tortured by evil, stalwart that we cannot and will not leave other wounded souls to fend for themselves. We aren’t Jesus and we’re not expecting to be anyone’s savior, but we are filled with His Spirit – and His is a Spirit of power, of love and of a sound mind! We get to journey with Him and share in the joy as He redeems and compels and reveals all that is hidden. His love is the truest sword and the truest healing. No one remains a victim – or a perpetrator – in the Kingdom of God.

And we are – all of us – in the end, set free; known, heard, seen and loved completely by a God who cannot do otherwise.

Selah.

~~~~~

It’s after 3AM and the windows in our home are flung wide open to allow the late Summer evening breeze to blow in, carrying with it the melody of crickets and tree frogs’ songs and the fragrance of grass wet from rain. The intensity with which I am writing has me literally on the edge of this ladder-backed dining room chair. Our sweet black-as-midnight kitty Bailey has taken the liberty to curl up behind me at the base of my seat, his gentle rhythmic breathing a familiar comfort against my frame, while our other fur-baby, Riley, snores softly at my fidgeting feet. I think to myself, “How can they be so at rest?” I am bone-weary yet alert. My husband went to bed hours ago, and I’d love to find a safe place beside him in sleep. But last night as I fought to doze away, more new memories came…but just the fringe ones. They are like the first faint signs of a hurricane blowing far, far away. The breeze feels kind of refreshing, and if you didn’t hear the weather report, you’d think it was a pretty nice Indian Summer day. These memories are harmless and somewhat amusing like finding an old VHS tape of a cheesy movie you liked as a ten-year-old. You remember the foggy details like you’re reliving someone else’s dream. But experience has taught me what these fringe flashes mean: a storm is brewing, and soon it will make landfall in my “up front” consciousness. The reality is, the last storm of flashbacks hit hard. I’m still reeling from it, trying to find my balance and stride. Half the time I wonder exactly who is operating the woman known as Rebekah Brackett. It’s like my auto-pilot survival mode has kicked in, and I’m waiting to actually feel “Me” again – without fear of breaking down into an inconsolable and irreparable mess.

With a heavy sigh that somehow escapes my restricted breathing, I close my eyes in prayer. Lord, have mercy… I don’t feel strong enough to go even deeper into the pain. Even with the truth of God’s love beginning to permeate the locked rooms and back closets and out-buildings of my soul – even with the awareness Christ calls me “more than a conqueror” – I feel debilitated from the intensity of this healing journey that started as a “3-hour tour” (aka, “a short work hiatus to address a variety of health issues”) and shipwrecked me for the last.six.eons. on the island of You Get To Face Your Worst Nightmares That Your Own Brain Hid From You And If You Survive, You Win A Prize – Your Life! At this rate, I could have become pregnant, birthed a baby and raised a child now entering the 1st grade or earned some sort of advanced degree or something productive to show for the six plus years invested in healing. And now, I’m facing darker, more sinister memories than the worst I’ve already had to claw my way through?! I mean, C’MON!!!!!

I often wonder if I knew then – before Pandora’s Box decided to explode itself into my waking life – what I know now, if I would have instead chosen to live blissfully blind in denial. But the truth is, the reality of trauma was a familiar slap across my face by that point already; there was no true way of hiding from the monsters in my memories forever.

Memories haunt…

Let them come. And when they come, may I not wage war with them, despite every effort of my guardians to protect my waking life and shaky grasp of things as we know them to be. Oh, God – may I open to the unfolding of these gifted flashback plagues just as I would lie down in trust under the wise surgeon’s scalpel. They are harbingers of the good, the bad, the terrifying… but allowing their sacred secrets to surface is a means for wholeness to be realized and found. There is only one way: through.

I am convinced faith and hope take us by the trembling hand, assuring we do not go this way alone. What was meant for evil against us, Jesus has promised to make right. He brings such glory and good out of our pain, we can look at it all through tears of joy and proclaim, “It is well with my soul!” Forgiveness sets us free, and love reigns!

This is the truth I cling to; this is the light of my life and my salvation: Jesus – and that He has first loved me.

We do not go this way alone.

xx