I also came to realize that some of
the people in that church, who seemed to care about me, didn’t really care.
There was one man named George who loved to have me hug him, but after the
church split up, he called me to tell me about another church but didn’t ask me
how I was doing. What made this incident particularly sad and revealing was
that the last time I’d seen him in church, I’d been on crutches as I was having
trouble with my left knee and my doctor didn’t know what was causing the
problem.
In fact, most people in the church
didn’t really care that I was on crutches. No one offered to come to our house
and help me do household chores, not even the person who ran the Helps ministry,
which was there for that purpose. I asked the leader, Cindy one day in church
for help and the only day she could come was David’s day off and he could do
things then. When I told her this, she said that the Helps ministry was only
for people who not only couldn’t do things for themselves, but who had no one
else to help them. I remember looking at her in surprise and thinking, “something’s not right here.”
It wasn’t until several months later
that I realized what wasn’t right. I had been part of the Helps ministry and
had gotten a call to prepare dinner for a woman who’d had surgery on one arm, which
made her unable cook for her family. When I delivered the dinner I’d cooked,
she was surprised because no one had told her I was coming, so her husband
was cooking dinner. That’s when I knew that the leader of the Helps ministry
didn’t really care and was probably judging me too.
During my time on crutches, the only
one who offered me anything at all, was Bill, the elder I’d gone to for help
with Caleb’s baby dedication. I went up to talk him one morning after service.
Before I could say anything, he took one look at me and said, “Oh, Sweetie, let
me pray for you!”
Then he proceeded to do so. He was
the only one in the whole church who offered me more than sympathy
during that time.
David has said that when I moved in,
my emotional meter was buried so far in the red, it’s a wonder I didn’t explode
sooner. I know now, if I had not moved out my mother’s house, I would have
exploded and the consequences would have been disastrous for both me and my
son. I would have assaulted my mother with the intent to kill her.
For the first two years after I moved
in, I let loose. I expressed my anger, my rage, my pain, and even my shame, but
mostly anger and pain. There were times when this was difficult for me to do.
In essence, I was pouring out my anger at other people on David. If I
hesitated, he’d encourage me to let it go. Over time it got easier to let
whatever I was feeling in the moment come out. I’d cry, scream, or rage in
general. I think at first it was about mother’s second husband, Don, who
sexually and physically abused me, as well as the men who’d used and hurt me.
What I didn’t realize at first, was
that a lot of my anger was actually directed at my mother. It wasn’t till David
told me one day that every time I talked with my mother on the phone, the
moment I got off, I’d be going, “Do you know what she did, now?”
Then he told me that if I didn’t
start telling her how I really felt about her, he was going to spank me. He wasn’t kidding. So, the next time I was on
the phone with mother, I started telling her how I really felt. It wasn’t easy
at first, as she is my mother. As time went on I got more comfortable telling
her my true feelings and soon it became a habit. At this point, I’m not
speaking with her, unless absolutely necessary. Like the night we met my aunt, her
sister and my uncle for dinner. Even then, I kept what I said to her to an
absolute minimum.
David and I do not co-habitat in the
usual sense of the word. I don’t sleep in his bed as a general rule. Yes, I’ve
slept in his bed at times, with him, but not to have sex. It was because I
needed to cuddle. I wanted and needed the comfort of being able to lay my head
on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. There were times when had it been
possible; I would have spent every night in his bed for that reason. There were
a couple of problems with that idea.
One of them being that David had
never slept next to someone who wanted to cuddle so much. Apparently, his
ex-wife, Jan was something of an iceberg. During their 20 years or so of
marriage, she showed no real desire to cuddle or be really affectionate. We
also discovered early on that we’re both passionate, loving people with a great
capacity to love. While those things can be a blessing, they can also be
difficult, especially in this kind of situation. The last reason we couldn’t is
that we both snore and talk in our sleep, so neither of us would get much real
rest.
We did however, finally work out a
compromise where I would come in and lay with him to cuddle for a bit without
all the problems, although at first that had its problems too. We discovered
that I could come in about 15 minutes before David had to get up for work and
cuddle with him. At first, I would come in and he would start kissing me. Then
we wouldn’t really be just cuddling. On top of that it got my hormones running
with nowhere to go. After this had happened a few times, I told him how it made
me feel and he quit. At first I would quietly slip in and wait for him to
realize I was there rather than just snuggle up thereby disturbing his sleep.
As time went on he became aware I was there the moment I entered the room and
was ready to snuggle as soon as I crawled in. Not only that, but if I moved as
if to move away before he had to get up, he pulled me closer. I cannot begin to
express how nice that was.
