I tell myself I am speaking up for those who can’t. I tell myself that God gave me this gift not for my own purpose but for His works to be done. I tell myself of course there will be haters.
But none of that makes it any easier. Especially not when that hate and judgement is the same voice I have fought against my entire life.
I wasn’t ready to be a mother, and because of that I haven’t always been the mother my children need.
Most recently, I found myself lost without a clue what to do when my oldest had a major meltdown, allowing her possessive jealousy to get the best of her.
I needed a second to breath, to stop shaking. If there was a solution I wasn’t going to find it burried under emotional outbursts. Only with calm, clear intention.
You have to look at the people who have overcome these lifestyles.
Those same people understand the harshness and hardships that only the victims and abusers who struggle with such vileness can.
They can tell you how an addict thinks, how they map their thoughts all out in their heads, connecting lies to truth and covering tracks.