by Smith, T. L.
The Girl at the Window
T.L. Smith
Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review with citations, without permission in writing from the author and publisher.
ISBN #1727103041
Dedication
Forward
Introduction
My Story
Compassion: The Missing ElementForward
Perpetuation or Confrontation
Her Story
His Story
Victory Over My Past
Sword of Strength
More Room Out Than In
Dedication
1 Corinthians 1:27-29, NKJV
But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence.
Thank You, God, for choosing me to complete this task and for using my experiences to bring clarity and peace to those who are traveling similar paths. I thank You for the courage to be transparent. I know that I couldn’t have completed this book without Your direction and Your anointing. Thank You for showing me what is possible when I completely surrender to Your will!
Thank you to my village—to everyone who has played a role in this complicated, marred and beautiful life I call my own.
Thank you to my pastors, William and Magaline Knox. I truly appreciate your balanced approach to faith. I couldn’t have made it through this process without your wisdom, your prayers, your teaching and your support.
Thank you to Nichole Weiler for your listening ear, expertise and fresh perspective.
Forward
There is no greater connection than one that yields a lasting harvest of love, encouragement, accountability and laughter. I often say that these types of connections are truly made by the Creator above. They are not forced, but gently established over time. I chuckle to myself when I think about the subtle way that God brought TaVeta and me together. My dear friend and I were on different journeys of life. Although we were experiencing similar trials and tests, our communication never went beyond saying hello and having small talk after church.
Although there was a difference in our ages, we had a few things in common; one was passion. God soon used the very things that we both were passionate about−God, prayer and continuous growth−to merge our paths. We had both reached a point in our spiritual journeys where we were hungry for more.
The initial connection was formed because of an assignment from our pastor to form an intercessory prayer team. Both of us took this spiritual assignment very seriously and worked diligently to fulfill the task. We began meeting weekly to pray. It’s amazing how in the midst of completing our assignment, God was actually completing a work in us.
He began to forge a sisterhood that grew beyond the four walls of the church. In the midst of prayer, He was revealing to us that we were both trustworthy, which created the opportunity to be transparent with each other. It wasn’t until months down the road that the light bulb went off for me. I began to understand how God turned this assignment into an intentional connection that has harvested a lasting friendship.
This friendship developed at the right time. We became helpers of one another and each other’s keeper. I have never experienced a balanced friendship to this magnitude. Her life experiences have been helpful tools in my current experiences. Her wisdom has given me direction for multiple decisions in my life.
If anyone is excited about this dive into new waters for my sister girl, it’s me. Our God has allowed me a front row seat and backstage access into an extraordinary journey of being whole and healed. I have witnessed the fears, tears and anxiety of the process of healing and now the leap of faith in sharing it with the world.
This isn’t a book to rush through. My advice is for you to read and reflect so that it can bring you healing like it did for me. Her healing process wasn’t done overnight and neither was mine. Take your time and even ask God for an intentional connection that provides a source of support during your healing and self-reflection. He will send that person like He sent us to each other. Just simply ask Him.
Shantee Davis
Introduction
I find myself at a crossroads. After 14 years of struggle and turmoil, I am ready to face the truth. My marriage is over.
I can’t help but wonder how I got here. How did a life that started off with so much promise and hope end up bogged down with frustration and stagnation? I guess I have come to the end of myself. I am just desperate enough to lay aside my pride and be as transparent as I have ever been to move to a new place of peace and purpose.
I am at a point where I am questioning my very existence. No, I am not suicidal, but I am trying to rediscover why God even saw fit to grace the world with my presence. Regardless of the current state of my life, I have always believed that there is a greater call for me other than the hustle and bustle of daily life. I worked diligently to operate within the purpose that only I have been called to fulfill.
The fact of the matter is I have allowed life, and all of its ups and downs, to distract me from the focus that is required to follow the whispers of the Holy Spirit. The path that I thought my life would take is a far cry from the one that I am currently following.
The good news is none of the dramatic twists and turns of the past few years have come as a surprise to my
Creator. He knows He created a strong-willed and hardheaded little girl who is determined to do things her way and at her own her pace.
The only problem with my Father being a gentleman is that He would never do anything against my will. He will warn. He will suggest, but ultimately it is up to me hear and heed His appeals.
I am swimming in a pool of disappointment. There, I said it. It’s out there for all the world to see. I am not happy with my current state of affairs. I recently celebrated my 44th birthday and my life is nowhere near where I want it to be. My husband and I have been separated for over a year now and my financial condition is a mirror image of my ill-fated marriage—a hot, stinking mess!
I am sitting here at my kitchen table asking myself for the umpteenth time, “Girl, how did you get here?” The truth of the matter is this story started long before March 4, 2003, which is the day I married my husband.
My current state of affairs is the result of my propensity to bury my head in the sand and not take things at face value. I have the uncanny ability to rationalize and justify what I see instead of looking at what is in front of me and accepting it for what it is.
The problem is I love potential. I can find potential in almost anything. I believe that this is a gift given to many of us in the profession of teaching. We have to look some pretty dire circumstances in the face and work to find the good in all of it. Otherwise, the job would be unbearable.
So when I met my husband, I was a natural at overlooking his flaws. All I could see was a sensitive, spiritual being that I found easy to talk to.
Fast forward fourteen years. Everything that those closest to me saw in him—the very things I chose to overlook—became issues that were so insufferable that I chose to end our marriage. (You are receiving the condensed version because it is not my intention to disparage my estranged husband in any way.)
My mom has a habit of belching obnoxiously. Once she lets one of these babies loose, she exclaims, “More room out than in!”
This is my obnoxious belch. I am writing to release the resultant fears, insecurities, and
doubts that have manifested from this process.
The purpose of this reflection is to purge my soul of anything that could hinder my journey any further and to describe how this experience has been the catalyst to a soul-searching and life-altering journey. Writing has simply become my catharsis [release].
My Story
Wrestling with God Genesis 32:22-31, NKJV
And he arose that night and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven sons, and crossed over the ford of Jabbok. He took them, sent them over the brook, and sent over what he had. Then Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. Now when He saw that He did not prevail against him, He touched the socket of his hip; and the socket of Jacob’s hip was out of joint as He wrestled with him. And He said, “Let Me go, for the day breaks.”
But he said, “I will not let You go unless You bless me!” So
He said to him, “What is your name?”
He said, “Jacob.”
And He said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”
Then Jacob asked, saying, “Tell me Your name, I pray.”
And He said, “Why is it that you ask about My name?” And He blessed him there.
So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: “For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.” Just as he crossed over Penuel the sun rose on him, and he limped on his hip.
I love the story of Jacob. There are details of Jacob’s life that could read like a script from my own.
Jacob was a man who wanted what he wanted and was willing to work for many years to get it. Although some of his choices led to quite a few missteps, God still blessed him. His life was only transformed after he had the epiphany that he was living beneath his privilege.
The scary part was that in order for his life to progress, he had to come face to face with his past. This thought terrified him. In Jacob’s case, he had to confront a brother that he had done horribly wrong, and he was fearful of how he would be received. In my case, I had to confront the insecure little girl within that had managed to settle for far less than she deserved or even desired. I had to confront and quiet the little one inside that was clamoring louder than the mature, spirit-led woman I aspired to be.
Like Jacob, this thought petrified me. It meant I had to face issues that I honestly thought had been dealt with and laid to rest. It meant delving into a mire of abandonment issues and rejection. It meant owning up to the bitterness and unforgiveness that I had allowed to reside in my heart for too long.
It required that I critically inspect the “why” for the decisions that led to my current situation. Both Jacob and I had come to the emotional and spiritual precipice that only God could carry us over. I found myself in a place of desperation and isolation. Regardless of the support that I was surrounded by, this was a portion of my journey that I knew that I had to travel alone.
I was fearful of the aftermath. Would revisiting these issues upset the tenuous peace that I had established with my biological father? Would reliving certain events from my past create tension with my mother? How would I be received by my family as I wrestled through these issues and worked to reestablish new boundaries?
Ultimately, I think Jacob and I wanted the same thing from God—the assurance that it was safe to return. Like Jacob, I honestly didn’t feel that this process would leave me unscathed. Jacob’s encounter left him with a limp, but he received a name change in exchange for the physical impairment. Jacob was commanded by God to return to the land of his father in order to receive everything God had for him. I was commanded to confront my past in order to build a productive and satisfying future.
In August 2017, I found myself in the office of Nichole Weiler, a licensed clinical social worker. I felt completely broken.
Although my failed marriage was the catalyst for my visit, I realized that my soul was sick. Honestly, I needed more than spiritual solace to process it.
I had reached a place where I was sick and tired of being sick and tired and sought professional help. I was filled with trepidation about the whole process because I was referred to her through my job’s employee assistance program (EAP). I tried counseling through EAP years earlier and the whole experience was lackluster.
My girls and I went as a family for the first couple of visits. On several Monday evenings, at five o’clock p.m., I found myself sitting on a beige microfiber sofa sandwiched between my oldest daughter—who is a clone of me, and my youngest daughter— who is a clone of her father. I remember being so worried about how this whole fiasco was affecting them.
It wasn’t long after our initial assessment that Ms. Weiler advised me that the girls would be better when I was better. They were just as worried about my well-being as I was about theirs.
This wonderful counselor introduced me to a therapeutic technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). In layman’s terms, this process mimics REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep. You basically tap into your subconscious like you do when you are asleep and dreaming to reprocess traumatic experiences to ease the pain associated with them.
The counselor handed me two round discs the size of quarters. These discs were attached by two long black cords to a remote that she held in her hand. I was directed to place these devices beneath my thighs and she would use the remote to make them vibrate.
During this process, you have to be mindful of the physical symptoms you experience as a result of the emotions that specific memories bring up. I experienced tension between my shoulder blades or a brick-like heaviness in my stomach. I even had muscle spasms in my lower back.
I was encouraged to relive painful memories in order to change how they impacted me. I was prompted to console my younger self and to advocate for her. I was given the opportunity to articulate the emotions she was too afraid or too inexperienced to express.
Through a series of leading questions, I found myself in an unexpected place. Surprisingly, my first area of contention didn’t involve my ex-husband or even my father. My first real breakthrough in therapy was about a painful memory concerning my mother. This revelation was alarming to me.
I wholeheartedly expected to figure out why I would choose to marry a man who could have easily been a clone of the man who sired me. Instead, I found myself standing nose to nose with the one part of my life I considered normal—and safe.
I remember being about seven or eight years old, lying in bed as my mom packed her things to return to her life in Jackson, MS. As happy as I was to spend time with her during her visits, there was always a sense of trepidation for me because I knew in a few days I would have to say goodbye again.
On this particular morning, she had packed her things. We had said our goodbyes and, to my knowledge, she was about to leave.
I never showed anyone how painful those goodbyes were for me. I would hide beneath the covers, have a good cry and life would roll on. On this particular morning, my mom doubled back to the room, turned on the light and caught me crying.
“Are you crying?” She asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
She stared at me for a moment and turned and walked away. I hesitated to share this particular memory because for a couple of reasons. Initially, I was afraid of my mom’s reaction, and I really didn’t want to stir the pot so to speak. I also didn’t want anyone to think that I was trying to solicit sympathy. In fact, this may not even be a memory my mom has kept stored in her memory bank. I felt it was important to share because I found it terribly surprising that this was the first memory to surface during the EMDR exercise. At the same time, it explains so much about some of the choices I have made as an adult.
This memory made me face some difficult truths about my life. The first is the fact that I was adopted. No formal paperwork was filed and there wasn’t a hearing, but my physical custody was transferred to someone else besides my biological parents.
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My grandparents raised me. In fact, they are who I call Mama and Daddy. I have always watched movies where adopted children were placed in stable, loving homes but longed to know where they came from. That is similar to how I felt back then.
Although I was loved and well taken care of, a part of me felt like an outsider. I was sort of like having the starring role in a film only to feel like the viewer watching the screen. As a child, these emotions were hard to articulate.
Being a part but feeling detached had pretty much been my norm. I guess this is not hard to understand when you consider that I had a father who I only saw sporadically and a mother where the bulk of our relationship transpired over the phone.
I am sure I was an addition to an already complicated equation. My mom was the third oldest of 11 children. At the time of my birth, my family lived in a 3 bedroom, 1 bath Jim Walter home in rural Mississippi. My grandparents had three children under the age of 5 and my mom and her oldest sister delivered babies within eight days of each other. Growing up, there seemed to always be “another one” and it was all taken in stride.
I entered the world on January 7, 1974. My mom was a senior in high school and the salutatorian of her graduating class when I was conceived. Since my mother suffered from a condition called preeclampsia, I was born 4 weeks premature at 4 pounds, 9 ounces.
My grandma would often joke that I was so small that my butt cheeks didn’t even touch! She would periodically recount the story of how my mom had to be rushed to the hospital in a hearse during an ice storm. My mom doesn’t recall much of the birth because she claims she was only partially conscious.
Everyone has always bragged about how smart and talented my mom was. Her intellect and work ethic were both demonstrated after she took a gap year, but still managed to graduate from college at the same time as her high school classmates.