Walls of Denial
For the abuse survivor, admitting to the pain and damage that occurred would force us to have to face that pain, along with the deep need for help, support, comfort, and healing. That would lead to needing people who would come alongside us in that process. That, in turn, would require vulnerability, trust, hope - things we have invested deeply in not needing.
For many of us, denial also serves another purpose; denial keeps us in a state of indecision. Somehow we think that if we just put off the decisions necessary for change to occur that we will be protected from the potential consequences of making bad ones. We hope that change for the better will happen without any pain or effort on our part. All too often, unfortunately, all we accomplish is putting off the inevitable.
I'd like to share with you a short story a friend of mine wrote about her own struggle with - and victory over - a denial issue. In Robyn's story we see a picture of this issue addressed. She calls her story, "Love On The Rocks"
"How many things have been taken away, never to return? Like jewels stolen in the night, innocence is lost. How many losses do I have, how many can I grieve, how many more are hidden in deep dark recesses of my mind? Dark, like a dormant minefield in old war zones, still killing and maiming random victims a lifetime later, it lies. Closing my eyes I can pan across the last twenty-five years of my life and see most of it, though not all. Some things are too painful to remember while others are so painful I wish I could forget."
"My divorce has been final for six months; our separation turns five on Memorial Day. Still I mourn the marriage that I held onto so tenaciously, like a dog with a favorite sock toy. It is the same union that Bill thought would last forever, even if he never worked at saving it. I tried to give him what he wanted, I always made concessions for him, never held him responsible when he should have been, never threw his shortcomings in his face. Well, hardly ever."
"I think back on nights I would curl next to his back, holding him from behind, a human life preserver trying to save him from drowning in his alcoholism. Me and "Bud," always at odds
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