Eighteen

          The ashen blue pacific surf rammed against the rock-hard cliffs of the Oregon coastline.  Fall storms came raging in one after another demanding to be heard, not ignored.  A reflection of Melissa’s own emotional storm.  Today was the sort of day she needed to see a facsimile of what she hadn’t been able to put words too.  The raw magnificent emotional energy of nature in its purest form.  It soothed her mind to witness God’s masterpiece in all its intended glory.  Emotions were not as easily soothed. 

            Windswept tendrils of chestnut hair blew across her face as she made her way down the blonde sandy dune.  She loved this time of year when the beach was deserted. Not far ahead was her destination.  A secluded cove whose name she’d never learned. A safe place to reflect without interruption on the cares of this world.

            The wind had erased footprints of previous sojourners. No other cars in the lot bore witness that she was the sole idiot out braving the elements on such a stormy day.  Stocking cap, well- insulated rainproof jacket, gloves, Xtra-tuff boots, and layers of clothing would keep her warm.  Sideways rain pelted her body, she persevered and pressed on. 

            The backpack was filled with snacks, fire-starter, flashlight and change of clothes.  Ed would not have agreed to her jaunt had she not been prepared, like a good Girl Scout.  He knew where’d she be, trusted her skills and understood her need to escape.  

Facelifted to the heavens she noted how dark, practically black the cloud-filled heavens were. They billowed and rolled over the cliffs ready to slam dunk their contents onto the mountains to the east.  The inky sky beckoned her to tell them the dark secrets of her soul.  They would safely place them in God’s heavenly storehouse, all she had to do was ask.

In a couple hours the tide would turn, right now it was perfect and gave her access.  Ahead was the outgoing tide’s stream as it pulled seawater from the hidden cove. Water swirled around her boots as she walked upstream and through the narrow cliffs that hid the entrance.  She sighed, smiled and entered the private, for members only, protected cove.

Rare white granite cliffs offered a semblance of light. Water rippled where it escaped its confines, but the cove itself was calm and mirror-like. Trees were tall and stately, not at all like their cousins, that stood watch overhead, their form determined by the ever-prevailing gusts. The wind was not a member and rarely gained admittance to the coves exclusive club. 

Off to one side was her favorite rock. Over time the elements had sculpted it into a perfect throne.  She climbed up and over a few boulders, took off a glove and ran her hand over its speckled surface.  When the sun’s light caressed the timeless stone, it sparkled.  She could only hope the throne of her heart was as beautiful to His eyes. She sat down and surveyed the hidden beauty.

She liked coming here.  It helped her see what God created in her, a clean heart and a renewed mind.  Her struggle at the moment was wrestling within the confines of long-established paradigms she’d defined about her heart and mind.  It was difficult letting go of what had seen her through dark and troubled times.  Her analytical mind did not want to give up control over her emotional well-being.  It didn’t want to give her emotions a chance to thrive.  At times she wanted to throw in the towel and stick with what she knew, let the analytical stay in control.

But!  There was that inescapable, but, in the long run, it would not be healthy to give analytical control. It was a temptation hard to resist.  She pulled out the journal that documented her process.  A quote from page 165 in The Artists Way put it into words; “We block ourselves to alleviate fear…whenever we experience the anxiety of our inner emptiness.”

How did she block herself? By “reaching for the painful thought.” If she focused on a known pain, she could avoid the buried ones. Time and again she rehashed old worn-out memories of past real and perceived mistakes. What a failure she had been and was! Why?  To avoid the fear that accompanied delving to the root of her emotional pain.

Pain long-buried, because after all it wouldn’t do any good.  It wouldn’t change anything. Compared to others it really wasn’t that bad, so buck up and get over it.  Again, but, then the ‘inner emptiness’ stayed filled with anxiety that was more than willing to raise its ugly head and lead to paralyzing depression. A fear-filled depression that demanded care and attention, which became mind and heart numbing.

Which led to a feeling of, what’s the use?  The only viable answer to that question was doubt-filled thoughts and feelings.  Doubt! Doubt! Doubt the value of feeling worthy enough to heal a heart broken by a narcissist mother! Shattered hopes and dead dreams long-buried and covered over with empty, vain love.  Under the guise of avoiding another failure would she let fear dictate the direction she should take.  In order to avoid a grief-filled desert buried with unshed tears.

What’s the point?  Echoed over and over in her grief stained mind. She didn’t deserve to experience the depth of grief she so adamantly avoided. And she would prove it to herself by once again ‘reaching for the painful thought’ that validated her not being worthy. It was an obsession she’d designed to make herself fail. It was an empty copy, a vain imagination thinking that’s what kept her from yet another failure. An all too familiar illusion of choice!

What did she need or have to do to change this unhealthy cycle of forbearing in a lie of her own making? 

“What? What? What?” She shouted to the heavens!

If only the floodgate of tears would release. Then perhaps she’d find relief from the frustrating backlash of doubt and pointlessness. Turning back to known pain was ultimately stagnating. She was tired of it and struggled to move past feeling emotionally stagnant.  It was an exhausting form of unintentional victim mentality.  She hated anything that reeked of victimhood one of her mother’s covert mo.’s.

Perhaps that was the paradigm shift she needed to make. Recognize she had been a victim of her mother’s narcissism.  She had covered up her mother’s multitude of sins not only to others but to herself!

“I hate this! Please don’t make me do this God!” She cried out and longed for tears of release to cover-up the word she so wanted to avoid.  The label; ‘victim!’

            A label she did not take lightly.  A word tossed about like common clay in today’s culture. Every fiber of her being balked at admitting she could have been a victim.  Her mother was not a monster. Her narcissism had been an insidious dictator. At the time Melissa hadn’t understood it was the motivator for their mother’s behavior.  But now was a different story and she could not continue to justify subjecting herself to its demanding needs.

She’d made the choice, all those years ago, to not become a victim as a result of her father’s sexual molestation.  To walk through inner healing and redemption that over time led to restoration.  She’d reconciled it as something done to her, not who she was. 

But now acknowledging narcissism’s abuse had been an ever-present aspect of her maternal relationship forced her to admit, that perhaps, maybe she’d been a victim.  And what did that mean?  She’d led a grace-filled life of cover -up. Which now demanded she take a cold hard look at how she’d unemotionally validated narcissism. In order to avoid the stark truth of the havoc, it’d wreaked in her heart and mind.

A broken shattered heart in need of healing which could only happen when victimhood was accepted, without conditions. She needed to embrace and understand the label as God intended, not as defined by the status quo.  Discover the value of acceptance with all its messy emotionalism.  Use it as the shovel to dig up buried emotions.  Not an easy choice, but necessary if she wanted to be well. 

She sat on the stone throne created by nature and prayed for a willingness to be made willing.  Prayed before her heart's throne as Christ did at Gethsemane “Not my will by yours.”  Prayed that in her weakness His strength be perfected. Prayed she’d complete what He’d begun. She prayed!