Five Minute Friday
I have been looking for a way to get back in. I've not blogged in so long, I didn't even know where to start. I just had a long conversation with my friend the Squirrel, and it made me think that I really wish I still blogged. I really wish that I still shared my heart and soul and life with these people that I've made family. Sure we keep up on facebook, but sometimes I think it's called that for a reason, so we can decide what face to show the world.  I don't want that anymore.

On top of the fact that I've not been blogging, I've not been reading blogs either. I apologize, by the way.  But tonight I opened up blogger. And I'm taking it as a sign. It's five minute Friday.  And do you know what the prompt for today's five minute Friday is?  Broken... I'm not sure I can stop at five, but I'll do my best.

Five Minute Friday

(I'm actually delaying starting because I'm just not sure how I'll ever get this right)

(Also, I'm giving myself ten minutes because my 'o' key is missing and it makes typing very awkward)

And... Go.

There's this thing you should know about being broken... I'll get to that in a minute.

If you've never read my blog (and you probably haven't) then you don't know just how much this word broken means to me.  It just made me start blogging again.  I hear the word broken, and even now, to this day, it defines me.  Even after years of therapy, years of healing, reconciliation and restoration, still, I am broken.

I was sexually abused as a child by my brother.  For many, many years (between the ages of 7 and 14, I believe) I was used as his object. He manipulated me in every way you can manipulate someone.  And when it's your 7 year old little sister who wants nothing but for you to accept her... it doesn't take much.  He wasn't the only person that abused me, and the other people who did, well he made that possible. I spent a lot of years in denial, a lot of years self-medicating with whatever drugs and as much alcohol as I could find.  Even after the abuse ended he was in my life, right there on the edge of things, just enough to keep me... broken.  I never really could heal. I didn't really even know what the wound was.

When I was 19 I was married, and shortly after I was pregnant.  When I was 23 we moved away from "home". 500 miles away.  And he was there waiting for me when we got there.  Yes, he moved 500 miles away, too.  Just to be near me. It was a never ending cycle of abuse, even if it wasn't physical anymore.

And then, just like that, he moved away, and for the first time in my life, I was left to deal with the aftermath. I had a nightmare. I can remember it like it was yesterday, and it brought back a FLOOD of memories that I did NOT want. I spiraled downward. Fast. I lost 50 pounds, I stopped functioning. I could barely get out of bed. While I did not start drinking or doing drugs again, I did start self-injuring again. And for 5 years I went through this phase of hell. There have been times when my only goal was to survive the night, and times that I didn't think that would happen.

But it did.

I am here. I am standing strong(ish), proof that anything is possible. Sometime around the end of 2011 my brother and I started to reconcile.  Somehow, after all of the hurt and the hate and the anger, we managed to find some common ground.  And there has been a long road of healing since then.  And there are days that I think I'm better.  And in truth, I am.  But then there are days, weeks even, that I am still that shattered little girl. I still fight nightmares and the occasional flashback. I have trust issues and intimacy issues and faith issues. But I'm still standing here. Still alive.  Still fighting, even through the (sometimes) crippling pain. I am here.

So that thing about being broken I mentioned earlier?  When something breaks... you fix it. I always think of the broken pitcher. You glue it back together, piece by piece, bit by bit, and in the end, you have a pitcher again.  But it is not the same as it was before it was broken. No, it has changed. It was become something more. There are scars now where the glue is bonding the shattered remains of your life back together. There are bits missing here and there, "shards of me to small to put back together". But a pitcher it remains, and eventually, when all the glue is dried and the pieces are mended, it is useful again. And that is where my heart is. That is why I can tell you how I have been broken, and how God is slowly putting me back together.  Because somehow, after all I've been through, somehow I have to make it worth it again. I have to help someone else who has been broken.

HAHA I'm so broken I can't get the picture for the link up to work. That, my friends, is talent!
6 Responses
  1. Oh, my sweet friend. I know this pain. So well....

    God is GREAT in our weakness and His love, compassion, unending mercy.

    Be blessed, be at peace. I will pray for your journey.


  2. Oh girl. Thank you for sharing, your story will encourage others. Your brokeness at the hands of another and your healing by the one true one who holds us all. Thank you your story is a gift.


  3. OneGirl Says:

    Yay, we're both back to blogging! :) That part about still struggling yet still alive, still facing trust issues but still standing. Yes, still. Focusing on the good 'still'. :)


  4. Amy Says:

    Thank you for sharing so open and honestly. We are all broken in some way it is just a few of us are in more pieces. No matter though God is able put ALL the pieces back together -- stronger.


  5. Bethel Says:

    It is a sad story, yes, but it reminds me of what it says in Life's Healing Choices (a book we just studied at our church): The more you share your story, the more you help others and heal yourself!
    Thank you for being honest and vulnerable.


  6. WICK Says:

    Thanks for sharing your brokenness...it gives insight to understanding a family member who experienced something similar...and how it may still be making an impact many years later. May God continue to reveal His New Creation in and through your life...


Post a Comment

  • I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I'm a photographer. I'm a lover of Jesus. My house is a mess, my kids are dirty, we eat take out more often than not. My life is loud, busy and crazy. And that's okay with me.
    This is Eric, the man you've been praying for. He's a paramedic. He quilts in his spare time. No, I couldn't make that up :) He has NASH (a form of liver disease, non-alcoholic) and diabetes, but those things don't define him. He's a man of God, an insanely wonderful husband, and the best daddy in the world.. Just ask these guys..
    Our daughter Ali, she's 9. She's fiercely opinionated and strong willed. She's a Daddy's girl, but the umbilical cord hasn't but cut from me, either. She's a gymnast, and proud of it. She spends more time upside down or turning flips than she does walking. She's crazy smart, and absolutely sure of it. She is my insufferable little know it all.
    Our son Dylan, 7. We lovingly refer to him as Chubs. Or Chubby. Or fat boy. Ahem. He is all boy, as you can see by his crazy wild energy. He has the highest pain tolerance of any child I have ever met. He plays soccer and does gymnastics, but truly he is a gamer, a nerd. He is an avid reader and loves to climb. Not to be outdone by his sister, he's a drama king, but to him, I'm the best mommy in the world.