Yes, I thought, I was one of them. In seminary, we had to take courses in pastoral counseling. In a personal interview, the lead professor asked me about my childhood.
"My mother was warm and accepting; my dad was quiet. I had a conventional, happy childhood." I said more than that—and thought I was telling the truth.
Years later, I was showering and realized I had not seen my family the way they truly were. "My mother was hard-hearted and unloving!" I yelled at my wife. "My dad was mean and brutal!"
Shirley hugged me and said, "Several times I heard you talk to others about your warm, loving family. I thought your mother was one of the coldest individuals I've ever met."
That opened me up. I had deceived myself (or I could call it lived in denial) and used words like conventional or happy to express my childhood. From that day onward, I began to accept my real family history. A year later, I could admit that I had been physically, verbally, and sexual assaulted as a child and that neither of my parents expressed affection.
God, help me not to rewrite my childhood history.
Instead, help me to accept the real one.
* * * * *
This post is excerpted from Cec's book More Than Surviving: Courageous Meditations for Men Hurting from Childhood Abuse (Kregel, 2018).
1 comment:
Oh man, I did that for years. I convinced myself I had a great childhood and told anyone who asked. As time went on, like you my wife would ask me about my dad and mom and there was a nagging itch in the back of my mind that was uncomfortable with trying to explain what she saw with what I remembered.
Reality has a way of refusing to stay hidden forever. Eventually the dam of denial breaks from the strain and it all comes flooding out, usually in tears. I too had to finally accept the reality of the family I really had and begin to deal with the issues I had refused to look at in my behavior and character all those years from my "happy childhood".
There is much rewriting that I have been doing over the last 10 years or so. I need more paper!
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