This will be a messy one.

Our minds are incredible in their design when it comes to trauma.  Mine was all mental, so I minimized it because outwardly it didn’t appear as dramatic as others’ stories.  What I didn’t know was even with everything I was feeling, I was still a little numb, and safely so.  Since I was still healing and my sense of self-worth was mid-restoration, I couldn’t feel a proper anger over what someone had done or tried to do to me.  I still believed some literal lies told that needed time to unravel to see everything clearly, even after finding out they were lies.  Amazing how long it took for the truth to sink in!

I walk a line with choosing to blog about my real-time process, teetering toward avoidance when that process hits a bump in the road called full clarity and the resulting fury.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I play devil’s advocate for just about anyone.  To a fault, I will assume someone meant the best but simply made a mistake. As the numbness wears off and I’m pulling old files to compile my story, I read texts with clear eyes.  All excuses, brain-washing, and influences melted away. Hatred is a powerful word I refuse to carry with me, but last Saturday morning as I was taking screenshots for my story, new disgust churned in my stomach.  Hot, fresh fury colored my entire day in a way I couldn’t shake as easily before.  The vileness of words spoken in the final couple of months, contrasted with the soft, loving words that originally sucked me in made me nauseated.

It was healing, though, to go back to the beginning and understand how I could have fallen for such an insidious trap.  Terrifying, simultaneously, to see how this strategy operates and deceives intelligent and discerning people.  Especially women.  It preys on their loves, their treasured secrets, by celebrating them.  It seeks out keys to their carefully guarded hearts, then handles them with great care until they’re granted full access.  Then it uses those keys to wreak havoc where trust was carefully built.

I was telling friends I call my “special ops” that I was amazed by how different our first conversations were.  He used no harsh language whatsoever.  No backhanded comments or sarcasm.  He was so soft.  Responded as if I could do no wrong because he was in awe of everything.  I could fart and he’d call it blessed.

For those who are unfamiliar with psychopaths and narcissists, this is one way they succeed while minimizing damage visible to the public eye.  They move on to their next conquest, leaving behind a shell of a person who thinks their lack of direction is their own fault.  For those who are in recovery and by some chance are reading this, gosh I hope this stream of raw consciousness helps in some way.

While I see major positioning and personal growth happening, and how God rescued me from an incredibly dangerous situation, I’ve felt forced to wait, having “lost” a life I loved through no fault of my own.  A dog I adored (he physically abused and terrorized her), a home I admired daily, roommates who made life a blast and a neighborhood I would sit and breathe deep in.  Often times, this season of transition and healing can feel like punishment for doing the right thing.  Add a hefty sprinkle of guilt for feeling that way, since I’m fully aware of my safety and blessings in the moment, and you have the tension of right now.  It’s a new effort to come to the Lord and let Him be something new to me: the place I bring my injustices and frustration.  To let Him tell me it’s ok to feel anger, and, surprise: learn about His anger on my behalf.  Psalm 37 has been brought to my attention more than once… it’s not a gentle read.

“Is it time yet?  What about now?”  I mentally ask as I sift through rental listings, schlepping myself to and from unit viewings and even applying for what I thought was my dream spot.  Everything looked guaranteed until they went a different direction.  “But I thought… this was it…” I think, and try to control my reaction and feel guilty for expressing my disappointment to the Lord.  I know His timing is perfect but I feel irritated.  He pulled me out of the trap to begin with; He will restore everything.  There are days I’m content in that, and days I just want it to look different and throw a grownup fit.

Looking around, I’m surrounded by incredible people to champion and go to war for me.  They’re doing the heavy lifting when it comes to compiling my story for the public, not just for its sheer shock-factor, but because I’m far from the only victim of psychopathic abuse.  My experience just has a little… Dateline flair.

For those wondering and asking, I truly am doing well!  I stand by what I said about not changing a thing.  Just forcing myself to share the good, bad and ugly because it does coexist, but all bad, ugly things make God’s goodness shine brighter in contrast.  When my story is released to the public, in all it’s true-crimey-ness, I’m thrilled to know that it will ultimately point to the miracle He did in rescuing me.  It’s the only explanation, and the overarching joy in my freedom is a testimony to what He wants for all of us in a world full of stories like mine.

Coming to a podcast near you that will knock your winter socks off.