When Words Wound

I read the messages, twenty of them, each one hard on the heels of the last. With each beep of my phone, they force their way into my quiet evening. I try to silence my phone but it vibrates and, for a moment, I can't tell if it's the phone or my body that is shaking.

The words speak disdain, anger, condescension, accusation. They sweep over me, hurting, hating, disparaging. They are familiar. They used to comprise the entirety of my inner voice, the one that caused doubt, fear, pain, stress. They held me down. They held me back.

Tonight, I have enforced my boundaries in an unhealthy relationship and the reaction is swift and harsh and verbally violent. It knowingly preys upon all of my regrets, fears, shames, both real and imagined. It is abusive. It steals my peace. There is no grace. There is no understanding. There is no respect. There is only anger and a desire to lash out, to wound, to hurt me.

And it is successful.

I read the words again, translate them into the intended messages. I am good at this. I've had lots of practice.

I thought love was supposed to be unconditional? 
You are arrogant. 
You are selfish. 
It's your fault. 
You hurt me. 
Don't you put yourself in others' shoes? 
You don't think of others!
You can't handle criticism. 
You're going to be a terrible writer.
You treat me unfairly. 
You treat others better than you treat me.
You only want yes-men. 
You call yourself a Christian?
You're a bad christian.
I hate Christians! 

I am a victim of emotional and verbal abuse. I am a survivor of emotional and verbal abuse. I was a victim. 

As a victim, I respond instinctively, like a beaten dog, to this kind of message. I listen, I shake, I accept, I believe in the truth of these words. I feel shame, fear, apologies rising unbidden to my lips. I cower, I tremble, I hide, I retreat, I back down, I demean myself and elevate the Other. I question myself, berate myself, doubt that I am who I say that I am. I spend an inordinate amount of my time dwelling on my flaws, real and imagined. I stand in awe of those who exude confidence. I do not understand them.

As a survivor, I must relearn the concept of grace. Over and over again. I readily accept that I am fallen, broken, sinful, and often in the wrong. I am far from perfect. (For any victim of emotional abuse, this knowledge comes easily.) But I know, now, that I am also forgiven, free, beautiful, redeemed, valuable, loved, given grace. I am made new. Daily. I fall into Christ. 

I fall into the support of my husband, the physical presence of Christ in my life, who has spent long years building me up, telling me the most loving words that a survivor of emotional abuse could hear after years of "You're not good enough." My husband says to me, over and over again, "You've got this."

I fall back on silence. I have learned not to respond in the moment. I have learned that there is no such thing as a rational discussion in the face of this kind of emotional and verbal vitriol.

I fall back on my boundaries. Love does not require that I continue to expose myself to danger, even the emotional kind. I am allowed to have boundaries, even as a Christian. I am allowed to enforce them. This is not unloving. It is not a "condition of my love" for the Other, but it is a condition of continued relationship.

"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love. We love, because He first loved us." 

1 John 4:18-19 

Establishing boundaries has taken me almost a decade of estrangement from the Other. For so long, I thought that I was being selfish, unforgiving. I have finally decided that this is acceptable in my life and that is not. The Other has chosen that and, thus, the Other has chosen to exist outside of the boundaries of my life. 

I fall back on my own strength and find it lacking, so I fall back on anger, my next best thing. I translate the messages again from a new perspective, read them with growing ferocity, and feel my strength ebb back:

How dare I choose to guard my heart? 
How dare I choose to protect my children? 
How dare I refuse to be a doormat to others' selfishness, an outlet for others' vitriol, anger, pain, abuse, manipulation? 
How dare I refuse to engage with the pointed barbs against all that I hold dear? 
How dare I set up boundaries in my life to protect my Self, put conditions on my relationships? 
How dare I refuse to take responsibility for another person's choices?
How dare I put my Self before Others? 

I am a mother.

I pretend the verbal violence is directed at my children by some person in their future.

My inner Mama Bear cannot imagine it.

I know what I would tell my children.

I know what I would expect of them, and the retribution the Other would face from me.

Why is it that I am assertive for others and not for myself?

It seems simple enough but enforcing my boundaries makes my head and my heart hurt.

Coming on the heels of my last post, it hurts more than usual to enforce my boundaries, feels unseemly, as if I am withholding grace.

An inner voice, the one that I used to respond to, mocks me.
This is your idea of grace? Evicting me from your life?

My inner survivor reassures me. This is a manipulation. Do not be deceived. 
I fall into this stronger voice. I remember who I am. 

Truthfully, my anger has already melted away. Maybe that's because, somewhere deep down, I am still a victim. Or maybe it's because I know that my abuser is a former, probably current, victim of the same abuse. And if not for the grace of God, there go I. 

On the days when my temper rises, when the words that come from my mouth are angry, burning, belittling, frustrated, I see my children shrink into themselves, their precious light dim, and I am immediately chastened. I see myself in their shrinking and I see the Other in me.

This makes me unspeakably angry.

I will break the cycle.

I will not allow my children to become the Worst Version of Me.

I translate the sentences one last time. I translate them into Words that speak life, hope, love, grace. I let these words wash over me, healing, inspiring, strengthening. I want them to become my inner voice, the one that will bolster me on the days that I struggle to hold myself together, to combat old voices, to stand firm in my boundaries, to love myself and others. They will hold me accountable. They will keep me safe.

The words come swiftly. They are gentle and powerful. They soothe old regrets, fears, shames, both real and imagined. They are full of love. They restore my peace. They give grace. I am known. I am understood. I am respected. I am loved. I am protected. My boundaries are secure.

Love is patient.
Love is kind. 
It does not envy. 
It does not boast. 
It is not proud. 
It does not dishonor others. 
It is not self-seeking. 
It is not easily angered. 
It keeps no record of wrongs. 
Love does not delight in evil.
Love rejoices with the truth. 
Love always protects.
Love always trusts.
Love always hopes. 
Love always perseveres.
Love never fails. 

1 Corinthians 3:4-8

There is only love and a desire to give me a hope and a future.

And it is successful.

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God; not by works, so that no one can boast."

Ephesians 2:8-9