Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.8

I am posting my daughter's written story tonight on this blog. It is one of heartache and triumph. As I look back on all that she went through, there's a certain amount of guilt on my part as a mother. I missed it. I had no clue. I thought it was just normal girl adolescent behavior. I was absorbed with other things. She didn't know how to tell me and I didn't think to ask. I regret that.  It was not intentional. I have asked her forgiveness. She is such a sweet and gracious person, she says that I have nothing to ask forgiveness for. But I know that I do. Not only do I need to ask for forgiveness, I myself need to forgive someone. And that person is me. I am finding that forgiving ourselves is the hardest thing to do. But I am working on it. And He is helping me. 

Mothers pay attention to your children. Talk to them. Look for clues. Make them feel that they can tell you anything.  They need to know that they are your most prized possession. They need proper discipline just as much as they need to feel unconditional love from you at all times. Above all pray for them. They are gifts to you and they are worth it.

This is my sweet Amber's story in her own words. It takes courage to tell it. It will help someone else. I am beyond proud of her.

 

"My favorite thing to do when I was a little girl was to sing. I sang all the time. I sang at home into a pretend microphone, I sang at church, I sang on the tables at Hardee’s after church.  If I was awake, I was singing.

I remember being a happy little girl, full of joy. I loved everyone and I even liked myself. I was a straight A student  who dreamed of being a teacher, if being a singer didn’t work out.

I don’t know when but somewhere during my middle school years my happiness began to fade. I’m sure that part of it was due to the fact that I was being touched inappropriately by an older boy. I didn’t feel that I could tell anyone about this so I didn’t. The secret made me feel guilty, ashamed, worthless and ugly. I’m sure that hormones played a part in it as well, but I look back now and realize that it was something much deeper. I was overweight, wore glasses (which were huge by the way), and had a curly perm. Well, this scenario was a field day for bullies and I began to be teased relentlessly, everyday. My grades plummeted and I became sullen and moody. My dreams of being a singer vanished. My self-worth was at an all-time low.  

I managed to struggle through high school and then college, constantly feeling that I never measured up. I was clinically depressed at this point and had no clue what that meant. I just lived life the best way I knew how.

When I was 20 years old, I met my husband Dale. He was the first guy I was ever truly interested in. We became friends, then began dating, and got engaged 3 months later. I remember being so mean to him.  My mom would ask me if I loved him and I would sob and say “Yes, yes I do! I don’t know why I treat him so bad!”  I knew that I treated him terribly but I literally could not help it. It was weird but I just didn’t feel like myself and I didn’t have a clue what to do about it. I looked in the mirror and saw a young woman who was angry, irritable, and on edge--- and I hated her.

A defining moment came for me in October, 2000. I actually don’t remember much about the day. I know that I had been watching a show on TV called “Beverly Hills 90210” and on it a girl had shoplifted. I can remember going to the mall. I remember being in Maurice’s trying on clothes. I remember putting the shirt in my purse. I remember feeling numb but at the same time it was a feeling of excitement. I had the money to pay for this shirt, but I chose to steal it. I remember the salesperson stopping me. I remember the policeman and the handcuffs. I remember my Daddy coming to the police station with a bewildered look on his face. I remember seeing my mama fall back on her bed with a look of utter disbelief when we told her.  She got on the phone and called the office of a psychiatrist that she knew. I heard her calmly say, “I need to make an appointment for my daughter, something is wrong.”  She called our pastor and a few close friends to pray. I remember the visits to the psychiatrist’s office, the counseling, the medication. I remember the court dates, the newspaper, the community service hours, the embarrassment.  At church, I was told that I could not teach Children’s Church or sing in the choir for a while. I was told that I should not take the medication because there was really no such thing as depression, that it was oppression, which meant that it was something of a spiritual nature. I remember that confusing me at the time and not getting an explanation for what that meant. I just remember feeling very unworthy and guilty. The thing that kept me going was the love, understanding, and support of those who knew me and the medication which was slowly balancing those chemicals in my brain.

I felt the depression lift. Things were looking up. I married Dale in May of 2001.

While I was beginning to feel like myself, little did I realize that there was another culprit who was replacing depression as my enemy and that was anxiety and panic.

 I was convinced that something bad was going to happen. One night we were at home watching a movie with some friends and my heart started feeling like it was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest would tighten and pain would shoot down my arm.  I literally felt like I was dying. I told Dale to take me to the emergency room where I had a cardiac workup that was normal. I was referred to a cardiologist who did every test imaginable and told me that my heart was completely healthy. The diagnosis was “panic attack.” This knowledge didn’t change the fact that these attacks were real and were occurring more and more. Although Dale was understanding and supportive, I felt very alone and isolated at this point in my life.  

I was a stay at home mom for my now TWO sweet boys and I didn’t have much outside contact. I never felt that I was a bad mom (my boys were my LIFE) but I was just obsessed with the thought that something bad was going to happen. I have to say here that I DID like to watch scary movies and shows about unsolved crime and medical mysteries. I didn’t know how much of this was impacting my anxiety. I can remember watching “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” one night and later could not get the images out of my head. It got so bad that I can even remember thinking about getting a knife and stabbing it into my brain to make it stop. I knew that I needed help. I returned to the doctor’s to get help and one doctor actually told me that if Christians would just pray more, medication wouldn’t have to be prescribed so much. You cannot imagine how much guilt and shame this caused me. You see, I DID pray. Dale and I would always pray when the attacks came. I went to another doctor who put me on anxiety medication. The panic attacks actually got worse. I was a mess and I didn’t know what to do. I stopped watching horror movies and crime stories. I read books and listened to CD’s about how to overcome anxiety but nothing seemed to be working.

There was one particular week in early 2009 where I was having panic attacks every single night. These were different and lasted longer than the other ones had. I remember one night in particular. I was having a bad panic attack and Dale was praying for me and trying to talk me out of it. I began to think, “He doesn’t deserve this. My boys don’t deserve this. They deserve so much better than me. With every new thought the panic would get worse. I remember lying there and thinking that I was going to die. It even progressed to thoughts like, “ What if I just do something bad to Dale? What if I hurt the boys?” I felt that my mind was literally unraveling.  I was exhausted. And I knew that I could not keep going like this. I felt like I had reached the end of my rope. I cannot verbalize the desperation that I felt sitting on my bed that night.

It was at this moment something happened.  I began calling on the name of Jesus. I remember whispering over and over again, “Jesus help me! Jesus you have to help me! Jesus! Jesus!”

And suddenly it was over.  It was gone. The voices fell silent and I felt peace. I layed my head down for the first time in hours and went to sleep. And I slept soundly the rest of the night. And every night after that.  That was three years ago. It was my last panic attack to this day.

I’ve always loved and followed Jesus even through the “monsters” that I was dealing with.  I am convinced that when I called His name that awful night three years ago, He heard me. There is power in Jesus’s name. I do know that God has a plan and a purpose for all of us, and His plan is to give us a future and a hope. He breaks through the lies of the enemy and He gives us back our identity. I know. He gave me back my song. He gave me back my self-worth.  Because now I don’t measure myself based on what I do. It’s all about who He is and what He did. My purpose is to exalt Him, and lift His name. For years I didn’t feel like I was even worthy enough to lift my hands to praise Him. So I didn’t. I couldn’t. Now I know that it has nothing to do with me, but it has all to do with Him. I now lift my hands to Him because like Psalm 40 says, “ He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit and gave me a firm place to stand.”

I don’t want you to think that I no longer struggle, I do. Those “monsters still try to creep in at times, but I know who I am in Christ. I am His creation and He is stronger than any “monster” that comes my way."   

I thank my daughter for her story. She has helped me along this journey more than she knows. My faith was encouraged when she told me what happened that night three years ago. And that was huge for my questioning mind. I thank God everyday that he rescued her. I cannot thank Him enough. 

I want you to know that although we are telling our stories, none of this is about us.  Everyone has a story. As I have said before, the whole purpose of telling our story is for the sake of others. I am convinced that someone needs to hear what others have to say.  

Next you will hear some of my son's story.

Keep walking with us.........