It has been twelve years since my life was burned to the ground. I tend to be date sensitive, and this date had put me in a funk for quite a while. August 20, 2012 will forever fill me with sadness and regret but since then, I have gained some perspective and there is another feeling that outweighs both of those, gratitude.

That day started like any other until my husband got an email that would flatten his fragile, self-centered and secret house of cards.  That morning would reveal that he had cheated on his clients, his business partners and me.  He survived a suicide attempt and, because of the mass of drugs he took, he can’t even remember the events of that day. The rest of our family will never be able to forget.  It is burned in our hearts and minds.

The aftermath of that day was marked with divorce, his partnership severed, his subsequent incarceration, lawsuits, bankruptcy, a foreclosed home, seized vehicles, a home invasion, humiliation, lies upon lies and, eventually, I stopped asking questions because I realized that I couldn’t trust his answers. I felt that nothing in my life was true.

In my darkest days I felt totally alone. My husband (henceforth to be known as “X”) had alienated most of our friends because those are the first people he robbed by sucking them into his Ponzi scheme. For months I hid. I did my grocery shopping in the middle of the night for fear of meeting someone who would ask questions I just couldn’t answer. I felt trapped and stuck in a never-ending cycle of shame and looking backward, pointing a finger at the one who had ruined my life. I was like Lot’s wife, paralyzed into a salty motionless lump. Eventually I pulled out of my wallowing phase and thank God I did. Had I not, this would just be a tragedy and my stories always require a happy ending.

Recovery Isn’t Pretty

So, there I was, a hot mess. I was all over the place and I’m sure quite the side-show for any on-lookers. (Frankly, I’m a bit embarrassed by many moments and choices.) One minute facing the world with fortitude I didn’t know I possessed and the next, ugly-crying into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. During this time, I was told by a friend that they thought I was the bravest person they knew.  I laughed because what they didn’t know is I had been watching the news the day before and was legit jealous of a person who had been in a coma for a year. I can honestly say I never wanted to die, but I was intrigued by the idea that I could sleep for a whole year and then wake up to see how it all shook out.

After the paralysis wore off, I pulled myself together and with the help of therapy, a solid Celebrate Recovery group, beautiful Divas and my all-powerful God, I got off my butt and started to do the work required to be healthy from the inside out.

Hurting People, Hurt People

During this season, I started to journal. Most of my life I had been afraid to journal for fear that someone would read my thoughts and fears and use them against me. One of my attorneys begged me to burn my journals because the feds could use them as evidence. Truth is, there was no evidence, just the musings of a sad broken heart that needed to make sense of this chaos. Writing kept me sane, I couldn’t give it up.

Journaling led to blogging and the start of a book (then restarting and starting again, and again…we’ll see).  This blog has been a struggle for me because the biggest challenge that I’m currently battling through is my fear of disapproval. In my past, disapproval led to shame and disproportionate punishment. It still gives me anxiety. I stopped posting a few years ago when my mother told me that I was embarrassing myself, and my whole family, by “airing our dirty laundry”. Weird, I hoped she would be proud of me! Though Mom has since passed, I still hear her voice, “No one cares what you think”, “You’re not as smart as you think you are”, There were a few meaner (cussy) ones that I won’t share. I kept writing but just couldn’t post. In this season, I remained a pillar of salt. 

I have often heard the phrase “Hurting People, Hurt People” In some ways this helped me to understand people like my mother. I strived most of my childhood to please her because the old saying “when momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy” was true to a staggeringly painful degree. She had been deeply hurt by her own father and seven decades later still wasn’t free of her trauma.  

We are all capable of meanness when we are feeling low in mind, body and spirit. I’ve done it myself, but that doesn’t make it OK.  Maybe it is a reason, but it is no excuse. Wallowing in our hurt and lashing out at whoever is closest is wrong and only perpetuates the cycle of abuse. We need to do better. 

Healing People, Heal People

Recently, a beautiful Diva told me that recovering from trauma is like picking up trash in your yard.  It isn’t fair. It’s not your trash, but it is your yard.

If you really want to move beyond the pain and honestly recover from trauma, find other people who are working toward that goal. I moved to Iowa six years ago and am far from my Oklahoma Divas who pulled me through that first six years.  I thought it was the end to an era and, in a lot of ways it was. However, I have found a new group of women with whom I have weekly fellowship in a group called Chick Chat. Like my Oklahoma Divas, these Iowa Divas are also working toward taking responsibility for their physical, mental, emotional and spiritual well being. We share our lives and challenge one another. Laugh, cry, pray and cheer each other on. We don’t judge, we let each other walk our journeys as the Lord leads.  Each has her own story to tell, she gives courage to others when she turns on the lights and is brave enough to look deeper, stretch further and grow. I’ve found that sharing my journey is the best way to keep from regressing and I encourage others to do the same.

Perspective

Now when I look backward, I do it with gratitude. X was a broken man and has to work on his own journey. That isn’t my job. Mine is to do my own pushups and make my life count.

When I look back to that day twelve years ago there is a new overarching theme of victory for me because it now triggers gratitude. My timeline since recovering from that day has revealed; a peaceful home, a new marriage to a solid godly man who came with my two lovely stepdaughters, my sons are thriving and each married to beautiful strong women, I have one incredible granddaughter and one more on the way, I am truly blessed where it counts most.

I am older, wiser, and I’m not done. I have plenty of growth ahead of me. I’m energized by Haggai 2:9, “And the glory of your latter house will be greater than the former and in this place you will have peace.” I have clung to that promise for the past twelve years and now I see it coming true.  I have never been better seasoned for a time such as this. I have something to say about my own ongoing journey and pray it will give hope to others who may be walking through their own dark season. 

Now, I have donned my tiara again and refuse to be silenced.  I will put on my big-girl panties and deal with those who disapprove.  I’m not glad August 20, 2024 happened but now, with perspective, I can see it was necessary for me to take inventory, make changes and not hide from who I am and just how powerful my God is. I hope you join me on this journey and give feedback on your own journey. We all need to move beyond the triggers and trauma and start the conversation of real healing.  Share your constructive comments below. Love and blessings!