Wounded.

                             There is SUCH a disgusting feeling attached with the process of becoming healed. I can’t sugar coat that or front about it. It freaking sucks. I hate it. I instantly find ways out of it. I tell my husband to stop asking me questions or I become distracted. I become defensive. My mood changes and all of a sudden, the person or spirit that is trying to heal me, becomes my enemy. When a surgeon has to stitch up your wound, they have to get really close to it. They have to irritate it. And it sucks. In those moments, we can choose to go through the discomfort or get off the operating table and run…with a bleeding arm and open wound. Putting a band-aid over it until it “heals itself” enough for us to tolerate it…despite how ugly the result is.

Last night, while sitting in bible study, I was minding my business on the pew and God began to speak to me (which always happens) and this time, I listened (which doesn’t always happen). This is what He said:

“Your experience with a lack of consistency has created scars within you. Conditioned you to believe that relationships are supposed to be inconsistent. So often, you cry to your husband, because to you, he is the ultimate friend. You cry to him for comfort yet you forget that he can affirm you and love on you BUT he CANNOT change your heart or heal your scars. Because inconsistency was a norm for you, you grew to hate it. And while you hated it, you also expected it. You got it in your head that you are the only person that has ever experienced broken relationships. You don’t even keep it real with yourself. This isn’t a place that you’re ready to share yet. No transparency on this matter. You aren’t ready to share because it’s still a very soft spot. And you have not moved past it yet.  Not only have you not moved past it, you keep it within because this time, you don’t have the answers.” 

And He is right. For the past ten years of my life, I’ve had experiences of repetitive broken friendships. And not just any friendships. The ones that I thought would last forever. The friendships that I invested in. And because it has been a pattern in my life, I’ve grown to expect it. And because I’ve grown to expect it, I try to protect myself from it. I hold people at arms length and I emotionally withdraw at the sign of trouble or instability. The pain associated with those experiences is so significant in the way that I interact with people and the way that I live my life yet I try my hardest to ignore it. So last night, God, my surgeon, [my Father, the one that longs to see me whole, healed and living in abundance] shed light on it and forced me to deal with it.

And God bless my husband; because often times he is the surgeons assistant. He preps me, leads me into the room, asks the annoying repetitive questions and then dives in quick and fast. And all the while I’m coming at his neck like “dang nigga can you at least put some gloves on before you all in my stuff??” All he is trying to do is help me. All he is trying to do is help the surgeon stitch up my wound. The one that I’ve been ignoring for years, before he even knew me. I make it seem like it’s God fault that it’s there. That he’s the reason it hurts so much.

We think we’re good. Just because we’ve had an open wound for 10 years,  doesn’t mean that it’s ok to continue living with it. We’ve just learned how to tolerate it. And some of us are horrible at it. It effects everything we do and we don’t even realize that we interact with people a certain way because of our pain. Funny thing how some of us front as if we’re superhuman! We act as if there is nothing bothering us yet with every word, the pain becomes exposed in such a way that people begin to associate you with it. Your actions are so pungent that they show what you’ve been through, without you even speaking a word of your story.

And that’s where I am. Exposed. Hurting. My superhuman flesh has been pulled back to reveal the scars underneath. And there are just a few spots that are ugly, bruised and infected from neglect. Wounds that haven’t been cared for. Ones that I hid and ignored for years until I couldn’t anymore. And with those growing infections, I began to believe lies about myself. I believed that I’m just not able to have long lasting friendships. And this isn’t to dismiss or devalue the friendships that I DO have. I’ve developed invaluable friendships over the past few years. But I simply can’t deny that I am bruised by the many that “failed”; despite my efforts and beliefs.  Yes, i know that not every friendship is meant to last. I also know that sometimes people leave your life for the better; and that’s fine. But it doesn’t negate the pain that is associated with the broken ties.

So , I’ve written about it. I’ve cried about it; and my thoughts are “now what?” As I put aside the head know ledge, the scriptures and rudimentary anecdotes; my only option is to let the surgeon do His job. While hoping that maybe I’m not the only one that has neglected my wounds. And if you have, MAYBE…. you’ll let Him heal you as well.

Yours truly