Today, I want to share something very personal with you that happened in 2009, in the hopes that you will glean something useful from it.
There I was, driving down the highway for an hour with music blasting and my face soaked with tears. I was crying so hard I could hardly breathe after my mother, Janice, opened up to me as she never had.
When she sat me down at the kitchen table, looking nervous and fidgeting, I knew it was important. She can never sit still when facing something perplexing or challenging.
The previous week, before our serious table talk worked me all up, she had called and told me she wanted to come over after she got back in town from visiting one of my aunts.
I said okay, not thinking anything of it.
When the day came, I had no idea what she would say.
“Well, you know there were a lot of men in and out of my life,” my mother started.
Of course I was aware of that. I had seen the domestic abuse and unfair treatment she suffered. So I wondered why she was going over it again. She knew I had witnessed more than my fair share of drama firsthand growing up in her house.
But then she dropped the real bomb and told me something I had never known. She was molested by one of her older male cousins from ages five to eleven—something she was completely on board with me writing about, by the way.
At first, when I heard the words come out of her mouth, I froze. Minutes later, she started trembling and then broke down sobbing. Seeing her like that, in such a raw state, was rough. I felt like I would be sick and then, the tears just gushed out of me. I was a total wreck.
Hearing her say he made her feel “worthless,” stripped away her dignity, and “stole her innocence,” was tragic. But she sent me even further over the edge when she told me, “I wish you could have had a better life and I know some of your bad choices were my fault."
Me and my bad choices.
They always had a way of creeping back up.
A lump in my throat nearly choked me as the enemy used that occasion to attack my mind. He was more than happy to replay the hundreds of stupid things I did in toxic relationships; the way I once hurt myself and my reputation; the manipulation I willingly submitted to; and the mess I made of my life for an extended period of time.
While listening to my mother vent about her own pain, mine began resurfacing.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better example to you,” she said, wiping her face with her forearm. But the tears were coming faster than her favorite blue knit sweater I bought her for Christmas could absorb them. “I didn’t like myself and had so many issues baby.”
She continued, “I was still trying to figure myself out while raising you. I wasn’t ready to be a mother and you deserved better, much better!”
This went on for about two hours...maybe longer.
When she left, I don't know why, but I grabbed my car keys and went for a long drive. Even though it was cold out, I rolled the windows down. I suppose I needed some air. I was so torn up. I felt like I was suffocating.
Over the past few years, my mom, who had me when she was 17, has been slowly revealing more of the guilt she’s been carrying around about her shortcomings as a parent. Little by little, she is opening herself up to me, making me realize that she is a much more complex person than I would have imagined.
I remember how, growing up, I had so many mixed emotions about her. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t be there for me. If she was home, most times, it was only physically. She gave most of herself away to the men who entered and exited her life like it was a revolving door.
I had questions about boys, sex, peer pressure, and identity as a young woman. I needed her so much.
For a long time, I blamed her for ruining me. But now that I’m older and have a real relationship with God, He has taught me to release that baggage. Playing the blame game and rehashing the past helps no one.
As I cried my way down the road that chilly evening, just before I began totally wallowing in grief and regret, the Holy Spirit nudged me to turn on “Moving Forward” by Israel Houghton--one of my favorite songs. I obeyed, put it on repeat, wept, and prayed.
When I returned home, I turned the song on in the house.
I sang along.
Off key and all, I shouted the lyrics out.
“I’m not going back, I’m moving ahead, I’m here to declare to you, my past is over, in you all things are made new, surrendered my life to Christ, I’m moving forward…you make all things new and I will follow you forward…”
I could hear the Holy Spirit tell me, "Ashley, your past is covered in the blood. God has made all things new."
As I saturated my environment with a message of freedom, I had my own Psalm 18:6 moment: “But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes, I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from his sanctuary; my cry to him reached his ears.” (NLT)
He met me at my point of need.
He'll meet you at yours.
If this spoke to you today, please let me know about it. Reading your comments and hearing from you is such a blessing to me and gives me even greater strength.