Responsibility

  “Let the godly strike me! It will be a kindness! If they correct me, it is soothing medicine. Don’t let me refuse it.” Psalm 141:5

 

  Today’s four hour painting was difficult: the blackened eye of a woman…Oh, Lord, as I searched for a reference photo to paint from, there were pages and pages of them. Age or race was no barrier to this terrible photographic evidence of physical violence. Oh, God, help them, bring them into Your fold, help me learn the signs of domestic violence because it does a really good job of staying in the shadows.

  My hands shook through most of the painting. Emotions are running high and deep. (Oh, Lord, the women!!) Cricket stayed in the background, interjecting as needed, but respectful of the current situation I find myself facing.

 

  I can hear him as clear as if he was sitting at the table.  

  “I’m…not…hitting…you…your…arm…is…in…the…way…of…my…fist.” Each word was accompanied by a knuckle punch to the shoulder. No matter how hard I tried to avoid the next blow, it always found its mark.

 It was disconcerting to realize I knew the difference between a knuckle punch and a regular one. Legs and arms were targeted. My brother never hit me in the face. He must have known it was the one thing that would have landed him in very deep trouble instead of being reprimanded with, “Stop hitting your sister.”

  Not that this worked.

  I’ve been thinking about him a lot. Not just because he would beat on me all the time. He was two-and-a-half when I was adopted. There wasn’t any of the regular time to prepare a young child for the entrance of another. His reality changed overnight. His place of singleness and sole attention was taken away by this crying, squalling, all of a sudden appearing and demanding baby.

  So much of what shapes who we are happens long before we have the ability to talk. 

  I witnessed a young man being given charge of a baby. He was most dismayed with this sudden responsibility. It wasn’t long before the baby started crying.

  With a shadow in his eye, he held her out to me and said, “She doesn’t like me.”

  I smiled and said, “That’s not it. The baby is only reacting to the tension in you. She senses your fear and discomfort with her.”

  I’d forgotten how much children provide a reflection of what’s going on around them. I’d forgotten how sensitive and aware they are of non-verbal cues.

  But the baby was burdened with being responsible for the young man’s feelings of rejection. Was it unrealistic? Logically, yes. The baby isn’t anywhere near old enough to make the decision about liking him as a person or not. Those four words, “She doesn’t like me,” reveal a great deal. I had a glimpse of his heart and am deeply saddened by what I saw.

  I saw myself in him but I also saw myself in the crying baby. That’s why my brother came to mind and the thoughts about what it must have been like to have everything you know suddenly change at such a young age.

  I don’t know if he ever got over hating me for it. To be honest, there’s been far too much damage done to want to be in a relationship with him. There’s been far too many times where he hurt me and it was my fault.

  The decision to not have my brother in my life is not a measure of my ability to forgive him. Forgiveness is NOT an acceptance of the status quo nor does it give license for abuse to continue.

  It gets complicated. Having the blame for being hurt placed on the victim AND the blame for hurting the victim put on the victim absolves an abuser of personal responsibility. I think I need to throw in the idea that we are also made to feel responsible for our abuser's feelings of hurt. That's another reason they hurt us.

  These ideas are like zombies from some apocalyptic horror movie. The undead corpses rise and want to eat your brains. At least, that’s how it feels to me. I’ve heard these same messages time and again by those who felt they had the right to control me.

  I am finally saying, “Stop!”

  The zombies grrrr and ugh and drool in the background. They heartily object when changes are being made to the status quo.

  But so do people I called friend. This is why Cricket kept quiet.

  Oddly enough, the heartbreak around this has helped me discern the cruel nature of double standards. It’s helped me discern that sacrifice has been mostly one sided. (grr…ugh…drool)

  The recent conflict has also helped me see that boundaries were firmly in place, theirs, not mine.

  A toxic relationship doesn’t encourage or permit change. The inability to cheer on the successes of someone you claim to care about points to something being gravely wrong with the whole thing.

  “It hurts me that you are changing.” (Grr…ugh…drool.)

  The denial of self is far too high a price to pay for admission into any relationship. I’ve been doing this far too long; afraid to speak up, afraid to say anything that might hurt this friend. (Grrr….Ugh…drool.)

  Besides, I knew the moment I said something, there’d be a problem. It happened before but ended up resolved because I quickly backed down in the name of “friendship.”

  I once was blind. Now I see.

  I’ve learned a great deal from the other people in my life, the ones giving me Godly slaps upside the head which leave no bruises. I couldn’t have seen what was going on without them. I would have simply slipped back into the “way it has to be” to keep the peace and (deserve?) a friend.

  Deserve? Where did that come from? Hmmmm…looks like a zombie, smells like a zombie and sure sounds like one. Grrr…ugh…drool.

  I will be so glad to leave Compliancy in the dust.

  I also don't blame my friend for treating me the way I verbally and non-verbally allowed her to. I do not accept responsibility for her feeling hurt by my dire need to change the status quo. The changes are not being made with the intention of hurting anyone.

  The damage created by believing being compliant as the only way I am allowed to live has been hidden for a long time. That’s because the bruises were never on my face.