Did you miss the first part of my story? Start here- My Story, Part 1- Telling
A Good Cover
The first time I told of the abuse I was 13. After watching the Afterschool Special: Don’t Touch about abuse, I told someone I trusted. The person I told held me and cried for me. Then told me that I should not let my dad know or he might kill the man. From that point, the shame of the abuse took on new meaning.
It became my responsibility to protect my family from knowing, because it would cause more harm to them and to me.
Keep hiding. Bury it deep. Deny it. Live the lie.
Religion became my friend. I could follow the rules and practice the art of doing good. I could cover up my pain, hurt, and shame.
God was the only one who knew what I was going through. He was the one that I would cry out to. He was the one who saw it all. He saw my hate, my contempt, and my sins. He was the only one I could trust. But could I really trust him? He did allow it to happen.
Trust him completely? Perhaps not. At least, I could serve him. I could live a life of (self) righteousness so that no more harm would come to my family and me. I would live for him.
And I did pretty well. I lived for him the best I could. God seemed to have protected me from myself throughout high school and college.
In college, I dated boys with lots of baggage. That kept my love life in chaos. I kept myself busy with school, Baptist Campus Ministry, church leadership, service sorority, a part-time job, and stayed constantly surrounded with friends. The more the chaos the happier it made me. I packed my life with stuff. Good stuff. And even God stuff.
I immersed myself into four summers of missions and every short-term trip I could go on. These were some of the best summers of my life. I lived to help others. My major was Psychology. I wanted to figure myself out without giving myself away. But I couldn’t make the grades, because I just couldn’t figure Psychology out.
After my sophomore year of college, I spent the summer as a missionary in St. Louis, MO working for a Church Social Worker. After that summer, I changed my major to Social Work. I knew what God wanted me to do. And I was good at it!
My new world of social work fit me. I felt God leading me to be a Church Social Worker. But I was still, a little girl lost on the inside.
Maybe seminary would help…
