I never liked summer anyway. Now it has another layer of distaste because of July 8, 2013. I’ve always hated how stagnant the summer months are. The heat is stifling, but the boredom and lack of responsibility make me feel useless.
This morning was the first time in 48 hours that I left the house. I had my first counseling appointment since our trip to Minnesota and Chicago. This week has been especially hard. I guess I got pretty spoiled during our 12-day trip because I had Gabriel with me 24/7. When we got back to Nashville he immediately started working 8-hour days again, and I felt lost and alone. Not having a job to go to, any homework to do, rehearsals to attend or script to memorize left me sitting in a perpetual summer of meaningless time fillers. A productive day for me consists of painting my nails or doing a load of laundry. My therapist kindly pointed out today, “But you’re always doing something, even when you just nap! You’re making a baby!”
Oh yeah, I forgot. I’m making a human, I guess that’s something. In previous months I’ve focused my energies on my healing process by reading articles, going to therapy three times a week, resting and trying to practice positive coping skills. But this week that has just been too hard. My mind has been swirling with fear and anger and insecurity as we try to make a decision about where to live. Unearthing my anger at God has zapped a lot of my strength and resolve, leaving me tired and weepy—struggling to get out of bed. I skipped group therapy this week. I felt too weak and unstable.
I talked today with my therapist about how angry I am that God seems to be silent as we’re begging for direction.
“This seems like a really shitty time to be silent. After what we’ve been through, this doesn’t seem like the time to abandon us.”
“It’s okay to be angry. No matter what theology is offered to explain away this pain, you will still feel it. Do you think you’re projecting your anger at God for being silent during your attack onto this situation?”
Talking with my therapist always makes me feel more normal. The past few days my mind has been a murky, helpless fog at best. Having someone validate my anger and explain the frustration I have in the face of a silent God, brought some calm.
The decision of where to move, is the first decision Gabriel and I have made in the last five months that wasn’t prompted by survival instincts. This one is for us as a family. Where do we want to begin our new family? In Chicago—a place we used to love, but now is overcast with the memory of past darkness? Or in a new city—a place with more family—and freedom from past demons—but less of the excitement we used to know? Making this decision without feeling the peace or presence of God is terrifying to me. Right now, in the middle of this decision, when we need God the most; I am skeptical and distrusting of his support.
I don’t know where we will end up. I don’t have peace about making this decision, but I do have more peace about being angry. I am not by nature an angry person, and in fact I haven’t yet encountered much anger towards my assailant or the legal system, like many survivors do. I am angry with God. But no matter how draining it may be, allowing those waves of anger to pass over me is a part of this healing process. They will pass, but I can’t suppress them. Many rape survivors do not seek healing after their assaults for many years and manage to stifle the pain they’re experiencing to get through the day. I’ve realized that humans are incredibly good at numbing and locking away true emotions. The problem is, we cannot selectively numb. When I numb my anger, I also numb my ability to feel gratitude, or forgiveness or joy.
This perpetual summer I’m in may be precisely what I need to simply allow myself to feel what I need to feel. I can’t imagine how women who have been violently raped get up and go to work every morning, care for children, or attend to life as usual. As frustrating as my seemingly meaningless existence is right now, it really is a luxury to be able to cry in bed all day if I need to. Without any major obligations I can practice not choking out painful emotions.
One of my favorite quotes that was shared in group therapy is:
Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling, with the mistaken
belief that you cannot bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain,
What you have not done is feel all you are beyond that pain.
-Kahlil Gibran
Feeling betrayed and abandoned by the God I always called Father, is a wound I don’t know how to heal, but I have survived the worst of it. I survived the assault, and now I feel this great array of emotions is a part of my healing. ‘I have borne the pain.’ The worst is behind me.
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