There Is Nothing Wrong with Us

(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)

"There is nothing wrong with us; something wrong was done to us."

I don't remember where I read those words, but they have stayed with me.

Like a lot of other men, I felt I was defective or flawed. I didn't think much about God because I thought God only liked good people, and I certainly didn't qualify. I felt ashamed; I felt worthless.

"There is nothing wrong with me; something wrong was done to me." That's how I say it now.

Battling the Guilt Monster (Part 8 of 8)

(This blog post comes from Gary Roe.)

Guilt often triggers shame in my life. 

Shame has been debilitating. For a long time, it kept me imprisoned by firing the same, crushing messages through my brain and heart.

"You’re worthless," Shame said. "You caused the abuse. You deserved it. You’re damaged goods. You’re the problem. You’ll never be a real man."

Shame whispers, "So what hope have you today? Really, none. You’ll go through the motions, hoping for something better. But it’ll never get better, because you’re the problem. It’s your fault."

"Really?" I say back to Shame. "I think not. You will not rule my thoughts, my motives, my actions, or my relationships. I’ll confront you whenever I sense your presence.

"You came from outside me and through the abuse. You’re not mine. I don’t want you. Take a hike. Yeah, I know you’ll keep coming back, but I’ll be right here, ready to stand against you. I’ll outlast you, and eventually you’ll have to go."

I can stand firm against shame’s onslaught. 

This is a battle I’m determined to win.

Ring the Bell

(This comes from Tom Scales, Executive Director of Voice Today.)

A friend sent me this quote by Leonard Cohen: "Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."

As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I've viewed myself as damaged—not scratched, but seriously life-threateningly damaged. I spent most of my energy covering over the cracks that symbolized the damage. I labored endlessly to hide the cracks and hoped they would disappear. Most times, I was more willing to allow the internal pain, suffering, and anxiety to build to a bursting point rather than allow others to see the cracks in my façade.

The Cohen quote gave me a new perspective. While I was hiding, I didn't realize I was blocking out the sunlight that brings joy into life and makes me a person others desire to be around. By patching over the cracks, I lost the opportunity for the real me to ring out with joyful, healing sounds.

Today, I accept the cracks, large and small, and I feel joy in the resonance my life has in my ability to encourage and support others. Sometimes there are harsh tones that represent the mistakes of life. I pray to learn from them, and not allow them to silence my ring. My tone is distinctive, because I embrace the uniqueness of my own bell. 

The Need to Belong (by Gary Roe)

I asked Gary Roe to write several posts. He also shares his story in my book When a Man You Love Was Abused.

I grew up feeling different. Different from other boys. Different from other kids. Shy. Insecure. An outsider. Feeling very small, less than, and badly damaged.

Given the sexual abuse and the verbal messages of my perpetrators, it’s no wonder I felt that way. If there is any wonder, it's that I'm as healthy as I am.

For a long time, no matter whom I was with, I never sensed I really belonged. I always felt I was outside the happy home looking through the window at others' lives. I wanted desperately to belong, but my self-confidence was non-existent, and my self-hatred was enormous.

Then one morning, while reading my Bible and journaling, it hit me. God knew me before I was born. He personally created me in my mother’s womb. He wanted me and he wanted me to be happy.

God wasn't simply trying to make the best of a bad situation. He thought of me and planned me. He wanted me.

I belong. I belong to him. I belong here, on planet earth. I was meant to be here at this time.

I belong.

So I am going to face the world today as someone who belongs. I am going to continue to heal.

Numb

My wife was seriously ill and I loved her very much. We had been involved in a serious car crash (my fault), and the doctor didn't expect her to survive. (Shirley lived, but that's another story.)

As I sat by her bedside in the hospital, I felt nothing. I was totally numb. What's wrong with me? I asked myself. This is the person I love most and I can't feel anything.

That wasn't the first time I had numbed out; it wasn't the last time. Over the years, I encountered extremely difficult situations and yet felt nothing. I was sure that something was defective in me.

To make it worse, I sometimes cried. But it was always about someone with whom I had no strong emotional ties. I didn't understand how I could be sad over small things and yet feel nothing about the hurt of those I loved most.

Here's how I finally understood what happened. While I was doing my usual pre-dawn run, a car made a U-turn in front of me and knocked me down. I had no pain, but three days later I sensed what I called "a little discomfort" in my left hip. It didn't hurt, but it was a nuisance.

At my wife's urging, I went to a chiropractor and he did a number of tests. He kept asking, "Does this hurt?" Nothing he did caused me to say yes.

"You have a very high tolerance for pain," he finally said.

On the phone a few days later, I related that incident to my younger brother Chuck. He laughed and said, "Don't you remember how Dad beat us and we didn't cry? We didn't feel it."

Just then the numbness made sense. Whenever powerful emotions overwhelmed me, I numbed out. Because I couldn't cope with the crushing impact, I had no feelings.

I've since learned to reclaim my emotions. To some it may sound strange, but I praise God because I feel sad when my wife hurts or one of my children has a serious problem. It's safe to feel and I'm not afraid of my emotions.