I Never Meant to Hurt You

 

  “For He will conceal me there when troubles come; He will hide me in His sanctuary. He will place me out of reach on a high rock. Then I will hold my head up high above my enemies who surround me.” Psalm 27:5-6

 

  Those six terrible words, “I never meant to hurt you,” are rife with toxic messages and dark undercurrents. They are not an apology!

  I have only heard them once, from my ex after he confessed to his infidelity. Once was enough because they did nothing but leave me confused. It’s meant to, because out of confusion comes an inability to respond.

  In the moments after he said this, I owned the hurt believing there was something wrong with my emotional response. I owned the fact that the hurt was utterly unreasonable. (?!) On the heels of that gem, it caused me to question whether or not I should be. I accepted the burden of responsibility these words placed on my shoulders because this statement implied his choice was my fault, too. It took a matter of seconds for this whirlwind of ideas and first impressions to flash through my brain.

  I was left reeling in a place of utter darkness. Jesus knew. Four days later, I accepted Him as my Saviour. Remembering the darkest days contains great comfort now.

  The burden of false responsibility is a nasty load to carry and I still find myself discovering bits and pieces that have yet to be dislodged. It is a burden all too familiar because there were many others who also dodged being accountable for their choices.

  Trite platitudes help abusers absolve themselves of needing to recognize the swath of hurt they leave in their wake. The easiest way is to place the blame elsewhere. Usually, the victim’s shoulders are the first to be burdened.

  “I couldn’t resist!”

  “At the core of these allegations, there is truth.”

  “It was just a game.”

  “I was only having fun.”

  “You never said, “No!” before.”

  “It happened a long time ago.”

  “Get over it.”

  Some of these I am all too familiar with.

  After I made the decision to separate myself from my ex, there was incredible pressure to let his affair slide because it had only happened once. 

  “He hadn’t tried to hide it!” was uttered as a selling feature for how good a man he was.

  It was so damaging.

  But then, the friends and family who said such things had no idea how bad it was. How could they? I hadn’t known until I was set free.

  He had been unfaithful other times as well.

  “You’re imagining things!” he replied, after being questioned about his behaviour. So I thought I had.

  Nope. I know that now.

  The seeds of doubt grow into some awfully thorny and twisted vines.

  So today’s art, with the extended hand full of crushed and wilted roses, represents the complexity of the poisonous gifts given to us that are over and above the damage done to our bodies.

  Lord, despite my own anger towards men, my heart cries out for the men who have also been given a dead bouquet. Sadly, women aren’t the only ones to get flowers. Be with them, with us. AMEN!