I Cried Today...

 

I cried today. Bawled. Snotty nose, swollen red eyes, and shoulders that shook cried. What caused this intense reaction? Christmas cards.

I thought 6 years later I'd be stronger than this. That it wouldn't bother me as much. That distance and its friend time would have helped heal this old wound. I also naively considered the fact that this year my life has had much more happiness, new and unexpected changes, that were also welcome and that those things would lessen the sting. I thought I had grown and yes, I know I have in some major ways. 

But the truth is it still hurts. So I'm writing this.

To my family who I won't be seeing this holiday season because I left the Church:

I think we all secretly dreaded the holidays long before I left. The stress to be perfect, to add up to others' depictions of good Christian families was tough. There was always so, so much pressure. Or maybe that was just me feeling it. But, I think we always knew that, although there were laughs and chuckles around the dinner table, there were also hurts adding up, building walls around each of us, gradually pulling us apart, adding just one more fracture to that familial bond. I think that's only likely when you don't deal with the elephants in the room and pretend that those elephants don't exist. 

It didn't help we were never taught how to have respectful dialogue with each other, never witnessed how to communicate civilly. It was all or nothing, winner takes all or be silent and not seen. Our concerns, our worries, our fears, our hurt were never validated. Our existence never celebrated. We just were and unfortunately just "being" was lonely, sad and depressing. 

I should have known that my solo Thanksgiving at 19, eating baked beans and hot dogs while I listened to forbidden KPOP was a sign of what my future held. Then, it was the cancelled holiday dinner, no longer getting every family member together at one house, being unsafe to attend even a birthday party because abusive persons were there. That fractured familial bond was breaking beyond repair.

I wish I knew that leaving the church would have a greater response than when my abuser went to prison. I wish I knew that punishment was possible, but not only towards me for speaking up, sharing my truth and refusing to be abused anymore. I wish I knew that your loyalty to a church and its pastor would always outrank any love towards me. I wish I knew how my heart would break into a million pieces and you would only dismiss the splinters.

I wish I knew then what I know now....

That wasn't love. It wasn't family. 

I cried today. Bawled. Snotty nose, swollen red eyes, and shoulders that shook cried. What caused this intense reaction? Those Christmas cards. I wrote each out and addressed the envelopes, placed them in neat piles to be mailed tomorrow. They're not from me, but a family member who asked I help them out by tackling this task. I did so as I have for the past 6 years, not including all the years prior. I wanted to be helpful, but my heart broke instead. You see, I'm shunned. Excommunicated. I haven't seen the majority of my family in years. I have never met some of my nieces and nephews, never held their newborn selves in my arms or been present for birthday celebrations. I'm lucky for the family I still have, but my heart aches for what abuse and a cult stole. 

It's not just the little faces I've never met, the missed milestones, the graduations and weddings I'll likely never be present for. It's the fact I often feel abandoned in this world even though I'm not. It's the ingrained need to see how my genetic family is doing. It's missing a part of my story. 

I wrote out three Christmas cards of my own this year. Friendships formed because of what I lost. I brought home a significant other to what family I do have and love with all my heart (those that have experienced much of the same as I have). I cuddled two nieces and my nephew, walked down a country road, pulling the littlest in a wagon. And then, I have sat in another family room, watching as if a stranger as another family interacted. I felt on the outside; felt much like the cult kid I was. It was difficult for me to fathom such love in that room. It felt foreign, and yet, also familiar to me. Familiar because I have the capacity to love in such a way; because I do love with my whole heart.

I thought I'd get past this by now, but I haven't. And, that's okay. I miss my fundamentalist family. Miss what it never was, miss what it could have been. Miss the possibility of it. Sometimes, as ridiculous as it sounds, miss the times we did sit around in each other's presence and bit our tongues because at least we were together. Grief doesn't always makes sense, I guess...

The holidays only intensify these feelings, sometimes prompting them altogether and this year hasn't been the exception. 

Today, I cried. It's okay if I do the same tomorrow. 

Photo courtesy: Unsplash