by CeeCee James
But, it was so hard for me to admit that I had been abused. The memories hurt, and I didn’t want to face them all again. It was just too easy to say, “I’m an adult now, the past is over.” I sat down to write a letter to Mama, a letter I never planned to send. I could barely get the words on the paper. Family loyalty, the life of secrets, and not wanting to rock the boat of my adult relationship with Mama all held me in an iron grip. I struggled against the brainwashing that had trained me to believe that my past was my fault; I could have been better, or, I was too sensitive. But God showed me that if I didn’t see the offense against me, then what exactly was I forgiving?
So, I wrote.
And I cried.
Mama stole my childhood away from me. She beat me, broke me down, starved me, humiliated me, allowed me to suffer sexual abuse, and dehumanized me. But worse of all, Mama withheld her love and affection from me. And by the grace of God, I forgive her.
Grandpa robbed my innocence. Sexual abuse has a shameful stigma. We whisper about it behind closed doors. But I stand up for myself. It wasn’t my fault. It has no power anymore to make me hang my head. I forgive him, because it releases me to move forward in life.
It was a hard road back to health. I went to counseling, and had supportive friends and family who helped. But most of all, I needed to believe I was worth a restored life.
Those four steps were huge in my journey to well-being; realizing that God loved me, accepting the truth about what happened to me, allowing myself the emotions the abuse caused, and finally, forgiving those who hurt me. I learned that sometimes I have to forgive even if there is no apology, so that I can be free. Through the years, I’ve revisited those steps, sometimes for different memories, and sometimes for the same ones I thought I’d already worked through. But isn’t getting healthy like an onion? So many layers of the same thing. I tried to be kind to myself, and celebrate the progress.
There were other ways that I grew healthier, but they happened in an organic way through my everyday life. Situations, like when my children became angry with me, would trigger dark feelings of rejection and abandonment. I’d ask myself, “Why am I reacting this way? Is my anger distorting this situation?” If I took the time to search out the root of my emotion, more often than not, it stemmed from a childhood memory. Once I knew the reason behind the way that I felt, my defensiveness lifted away. I could return to listen and respond with a clear head.
Because I cared about my children’s troubles, I could see how God cared about my troubles too. I sat on my bed one day, looked up at the ceiling and said, “God, I’m on the mad bed.” I don’t know why I looked at the ceiling, maybe because I thought of God as being “up there.” I poured my heart out to him honest and open, just like my children did with me. I felt his comfort and acceptance, even as the words tumbled out ugly, angry, and made me feel unlovable.
After that day, I quit trying to be a “good girl” for him. I realized he had never seen me as a bad person whom he chose to love anyway. He saw me as his precious child, just like how I saw my kids.
I still struggled with accepting forgiveness from Jim and friends. I was convinced that people wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t perfect. A friend sat me down once, and said, “CeeCee, we all make mistakes. You make mistakes because you’re human, not because you’re a monster.”
It was hard for me to believe her, but over time I learned that conflict was usually patched up just by taking the time to listen to one another. It was so freeing when I realized I wouldn’t be rejected for making a mistake. No one expected me to grovel for forgiveness, especially God.
Another big step towards freedom was when I figured out that my emotions were not truth. Truth was truth, regardless of whether it “felt” true to me or not. The more I treated my emotions as the seasoning of my focus, rather than the meal, the more I experienced what I had longed for my whole life; peace. My peace was this; God had gotten me this far, he was going to get me the rest of the way.
I started feeling comfortable in my own skin. I quit analyzing everything I said and did to see if I could have done it better, and stopped worrying that I would do something to offend Jim or my friends. I chucked the fake smile away forever and let the real me shine forth, come what may.
While raising my sweet family, I wanted my children to have a lot of memories that reaffirmed how valuable they were to me. We played board games, card games, and had snowball fights with marshmallows in the middle of summer. I read hundreds of books out loud while they sipped from cups of hot cocoa and sat sprawled out on pillows on the floor. We chased each other around the house and tickled one another when we were caught. We did tons of crafts. I smiled even when my boys glued their fingers together, or when there was colored marker on the table. I taught them, “Mares Eat Oats,” and we sang at the tops of our lungs until it sounded like wild gibberish and laughed and laughed. When they broke one of my special things, I might be mad until I saw their worried faces and then I’d tell them, “You are worth more to me than anything material.”
I did things that didn’t come natural to me, like when I taught them to bake. Sometimes it felt like a grin-and-bear-with-it moment because of the mess and the slow speed. I silently counted to ten while they stumbled through a cookie recipe, spilling half the flour, as an egg slid off the counter and onto the floor. In the end, my heart burst with joy to see how proud they were to share the cookies they had made with their Dad.
I fixed both of my girl’s hair in ribbons and bows, and we played with my makeup. They giggled while they put eye shadow on me and drew on big red lips, and I taught them to kiss butterflies on tissue. One day my little girl ran behind me as I sat in a chair at the computer and began to brush my hair.
“Mommy, your hair is so soft and pretty,” she said. “Can I braid it, Mommy? Let me put this ribbon in it and make your hair beautiful.”
When I felt my girl’s hands gently pin up my hair, I closed my eyes and a tear trickled down my cheek. The sting of that long ago memory of Mama refusing to brush my hair disappeared.
It wasn’t long after that day that I realized God had completely healed the dark pit that had echoed inside of me my whole life. There was still some unaccounted time from my childhood, but God had proven that my healing didn’t rely on me remembering everything. If the memory was important, somehow I would be reminded.
My Dad died before he and I had a chance to develop an adult relationship. He never knew about my other life, or my secrets. I can’t help but be sad at what might have been. I had learned as an adult that he had life-long battles he wasn’t able to get free from, and my heart broke. I wish that he could have known happiness.
My mom has no contact with me. It’s a broken relationship that I didn’t break. I love my mom, and I will love her forever. I deeply want to see love and wholeness restored to her life. I’ve finally accepted that I can’t do anything to make her get healthy. And because God loves me so much, I trust God to take care of her. He’s waiting for her to let him heal her broken places. It breaks my heart that I may not be a part of her healing journey, but I am thankful he is.
My restoration has happened cohesively, and it happened in starts and spurts, it happened in a rush, and in fire. It’s only when I look back that I can see how the healing thread is entwined so perfectly throughout my life that it could have only happened in that way. Looking forward the thread disappears, but I believe God is still weaving it. I’ve learned through all my experiences that sometimes breaking new ground to make a healthy life looks messy, but it’s still new ground. I’m not afraid of messy, because it’s in the messiest of times when I’ve had nothing left to give that I’ve sensed God’s arms wrapped around me, telling me that I am forever his. He will never leave me nor forsake me. He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. I am an arrow, and I point to God’s love. And so, for the rest of my life, that’s what I’ll point to.
I cherish the healing of each broken area of my life like a mosaic, because I see h
ow the healed scars hold together a picture of beauty culled from the ashes. I was created for love and loved by my Creator. We’ve walked a long way together.
My Mother’s Day Poem
To my darling children,
My reason to smile every day.
Each one of you has confidence in me
And I am humbled by your faith,
You trusted me to be the mom
I never had.
And I learned.
I discovered that a mother’s hand is caring.
Where I knew a harsher hand,
You caught mine up for ring around the rosy,
Taught me how a small hand fits into an adult’s.
Full of love and safety,
Miss Mary Mack
Tickling silver buttons down the back.
I realized a mother’s love never runs
As long as I have breath, I will be there for you.
Agape love-not earned, only values
Not the perfect family, but the forgiving family
Through thick and thin
Welcoming arms
And the door is always open.
I encouraged you to Get up and try again,
You can do this, I have faith in you.
I believe in you.
Speaking from truth, from hope
You four have always made me proud.
You believed in yourselves,
And you inspired me to do the same.
I saw that loving you wouldn’t heal the hole in my heart
For a mom to love me.
I could never expect you to fill that empty place.
God showed me that spot wasn’t broken forever
He came gently with healing,
His truth and restoration,
And I became the mom that I had once needed.
No mother is perfect.
Sometimes a mother sows what she reaped,
Sometimes we make mistakes.
We let our kids down,
We disappoint them.
God knows,
And He can cover all mistakes.
Today marks my flag on top of the mountain.
I started in a place far from here.
Basking in God’s grace and love,
His hope
Celebrating my two Sons and two Daughters-
Thankful for their celebration of me
God’s mercy.
Lost No More, Jim’s story- Free with kindle unlimited
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Thank you for reading Ghost No More! On the following page is a sample of Lost No More, book 2 in the Ghost No More Series. I hope you enjoy it!
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Lost No More
Chapter 1
“Get my mitt, Jimmy,” Dad yelled, his face pulled into a cocky grin. He tugged his red shirt down, then pulled the crease straight on his white pants.
“Where is it, Dad?” I sat on the stairs watching him.
“You’re four, you’re a big boy now. Go find it.”
I jumped up and darted down the hall to the living room, spotting the well-worn glove on the buffet on the way. After scooping it up, I ran it over to him.
He took it from my hand and tried it on, giving the creased palm a punch. “Thanks.”
I wanted him to ruffle my hair. Instead he looked in the mirror and pulled his cap low on his brow.
Then he yelled “Goodbye, Pearl,” and left me standing in the open doorway as he strutted towards his truck. At the truck door he looked back at me and winked. “See you later, alligator.”
I wiggled inside and answered back, “After a while, crocodile.”
I used to think he was famous. But then I found out the monogrammed “M” on his shirt stood for the local bar.
Later, that afternoon, Mom packed me and my baby brother, David, up in the car and drove us down to Union Parkway. We reached the hot metal bleachers just as Dad swaggered up to the home plate. He gave a wolf whistle to the pitcher, who squinted at him and tried to sneer. Dad laughed. His confidence made me swell with pride. Dad tapped the plate and gave his twisted smile.
The pitcher spit in his hand then wound up and let a curve ball fly.
Crack!
Dad smacked it past the outfielders like a rocket. My seat shook under me as the crowd jumped to their feet and screamed.
I skipped off the bleachers and ran down to the chain fence. My fingers looped through the metal links as I pressed my face against it and shouted. “Go Dad! Go!” His cleats pounded up the dust as the ball chased him from base to base. My chest almost blew apart as he slid into home plate in a cloud of dirt.
“Yeah! That’s my Dad!”
They won 3-2.
After the game, Dad didn’t look over at me. Instead, he rushed to his teammates and they jumped about and hugged each other. I smiled to see him laughing so hard.
Dad hung around after the game and didn’t come home with the rest of us. As Mom made dinner I overheard her say to herself, “He’s going to come home a stumbling idiot,” with worried lines on her face.
After we finished eating and had bath-time, I sat in a waste-paper basket in front of the TV. The plastic cupped my back while my legs, in dinosaur pajamas, hung over the edge. The living room was dark, but cozy, with a little light coming from the hanging kitchen lamp. The kids on the television jumped in the air. I beat my hands against the sides of the can and sang along. “Doo, do, do, do!”
Mom was washing dishes in the kitchen when the back door crashed open. I flinched. Dad walked into the kitchen with big, stomping steps. I heard a pan slam, then loud voices.
If I’m quiet and pretend I’m not here, they won’t notice me. Staring hard at the TV, I tried to concentrate on what the green puppet on the screen was saying. Bits of my parents’ words broke through my focus, as though the puppet were speaking their words.
“You’re drunk! Like always!”
“I had good reason to celebrate!”
“Celebrate what? A bar win?”
“I’m sick of your nagging, Woman!”
A loud clatter rang out as a dish fell in the sink.
And then another.
I didn’t dare turn around. My bottom lip trembled. I took a deep breath. “I’m not here, you don’t see me,” I repeated over and over and concentrated on the TV.
There was prickly silence.
Then, a metallic clang and the light dimmed as Mom screamed.
A gust of wind blew past me just before the TV exploded in bright light. I jerked back and toppled over out of the basket.
The TV hissed with a flicker of sparks.
Inside the broken screen, the ceiling light rocked to a stop. Dad had thrown the fixture with the speed of a fast ball at the TV.
My world spun around me with shock, and I felt a wave of nausea. He’s mad at me! Why is he mad at me? What did I do wrong?
Dad stomped into the living room. I shrank away from him.
“Just look what you made me do!” His eyes and hair were wild as he wrenched the fixture out of the TV. I didn’t know who he was talking to. He swung the light to one side, where it rolled into the couch, fumbled for his keys, and stormed out the front door.
*****
The next day Dad looked at the broken TV with a bemused expression.
“Don’t you remember what happened?” Mom asked.
“No, I really don’t,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll call Larry. He’ll be able to repair that. I’ve seen him take an entire set
apart and put it back together.” He turned to me. “One handed! With his eyes closed!”
I grinned.
The phone rang, and Mom walked over to the table to answer it. She sounded cheery, and her head nodded, as though the speaker on the other end could see. After hanging up, her happy look faded away. “That was Ralph.” She looked at Dad sharply. “You didn’t tell me there’s a get together today.”
“Well, we’ve got to celebrate our win!” Dad rubbed his hands together and then patted his pocket looking for his cigarettes.
“But aren’t we going to church?”
“Aww, why do I need to go, Pearl? I live by my motto; Look up.” He pointed towards the ceiling.
“I seem to remember you did your celebrating last night.” Mom unbuckled the baby from the yellow bouncy seat sitting on the floor. She handed him to Dad. “You’d do better to spend more time looking up than looking at your drink.”
“What?” he said, patting my brother on the back. “I already said I was sorry. I ain’t going to drink today.”
I crossed my fingers and toes, hoping it would be that way.
We piled in the car, and Dad drove us to Big Bend River Park. He turned into the dirt lot and pulled in next to his friend’s truck. The car had hardly come to a complete stop before Dad leapt out to help his friend carry an ice-chest across the grounds to the burn pit.
Mom watched him leave, two angry lines appearing between her eyebrows. She sighed as she struggled to get the baby out of the car seat. I followed her, looping the heavy diaper bag across my shoulder. She wandered over the grass to the trees that edged the park until she found a flat spot in the shade.
“This is good,” she said. I dumped the bag and ran to find Dad.
“Get me a soda!” she called after me.
He was standing by the smoking BBQ surrounded by a mob of people. I could hardly get close to him with everyone crowded around. They slapped his back and laughed at his jokes. Someone passed him a bottle of beer.