Who Reads This, Anyway?

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Since no one really reads my blog, I can pretty much say what I want to, and not many will know, none will care.

I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like crying. I want to yell. I want to find a  way to shut down the avenues connecting to my past that keep trying to lock me into who people thought I was.

Some people have family who actually like them, who speak highly of them, and build them up. But, not me. I have family that hates me. Even worse: they falsely pity me.  (This does not include my husband, who really does know me, likes me, and builds me up.)

I hate my family. I hate my past life with them. I don’t want anything to do with them. Ever. Unless they repent and stop trying to lock me into a negative prison made from their own inaccurate judgements.

I feel sick because people I thought of as trusted friends would rather look at me through my family’s poisoned, unclear perception. I am never seen or heard, because my family’s opinions are so LOUD.

Do you know what it’s like to grow up with a family member who was more unstable than stable? Do you know what it’s like to be abused by a family member, only to have other family members cover it up and accuse you of lying about it? Do you have any idea how devastating it is to just not be believed, or even to be treated like you’re stupid, crazy, dishonest, or invalidated? How do you rise above that? How do you overcome those tremendously large, jagged mountain-like obstacles?

Well, I have chosen to just walk away. From all of it. I forgive. I can forget. But I refuse to subject myself to it anymore. I refuse to allow it any room to be attached to my identity.

Thankfully God has seen. He knows the truth about me, and my past. He knows the obstacles I face because of my family. He knows my weaknesses, and He knows my strengths. He created me to be a fighting survivor in order to overcome what He foresaw my struggles would be. He has taken hold of my life and reformed it into something useful. My identity is no longer in my family or my past. My identity is hidden in Him, safe.

People may think the worst of me, or believe they should pity me. But, God knows the reality, the truth. And, because of that I can rest in Him.

I am safe, secure, and where I belong, in the Hands of God. Under the shelter of His Wings.

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