The no-comfort zone

Rated R! This post won't be pretty. I'm going to cuss. I'm not preaching. I'm processing.

I've noticed during my healing process that sometimes, an image from my past will stick in my brain and refuse to leave until I examine it. (Hence my writing this post.) Today, the image was from my ex-family. Please understand that these dear people are folks that I've separated myself from permanently on purpose, so they're not mine anymore. But I'm going to write about them in this post as if they were still mine.

When I was in high school, if I remember correctly, on a few occasions, my little sister would be sitting alone on her bed in her darkened room. She would be crying nonstop. Mama would be in the kitchen cooking dinner, and she would instruct us to leave my little sister alone. I think maybe at first, my little sister was crying because she had asked Mama if she could go somewhere or do something, and Mama said no. So, maybe at first, the crying was fake-manipulative. But as time progressed, it seemed real. When I spoke to my little sister about it years later, she explained that she really was crying, with no comfort from Mama, and she really was depressed.

So, while my little sister would sit in the dark crying, Mama would cook dinner with a hardened look on her face and be very unhappy about the fact that my little sister wouldn't stop crying. At least once or twice, Daddy went into my little sister's room and held her, and tried to comfort her, which is what a parent is supposed to do. I don't remember him taking his Bible into my little sister's room and training her how to turn to God during her episodes of grief. I don't remember him praying with her. But I do remember him trying to do the right thing with what he had.

Mama was mad because my little sister was sad? I don't get it. What the hell kind of a monster does that to her kid? Maybe I just answered my own question with my own profanity. She just let her own child boil in the darkness of her own sorrow. How dare she treat my little sister like that. How dare she instruct me to not comfort her, either. How dare I obey her. If I knew then what I know now, I would have told that bitch to go fuck herself. I want to punch her in the face. Stay the fucking hell away from my little sister.

Sigh. It's a bad idea to mess with a shepherd.

The Great Shepherd, who calms me down, is the God of all comfort. He's the One who's been comforting me in all the ways I was denied comfort when I was a child in my neglectful environment. He's the One who showed me that comfort usually requires physical presence and time. He's the One who doesn't hesitate to show up for me when I crack my Bible open and blubbler over Psalm 31. Then He's the One who listens to me while I cry out my pain and pray through my concerns all morning and/or afternoon. Then He waits with me until He knows that I'm doing better. Then He lets me have ice cream. Or if I can't have ice cream, He'll enjoy some yogurt with me. He's the King of the universe, and yet He makes the time to sit with me while I cry, to listen to me while I ponder aloud, and to be my Friend and simply hang out with me while the weight of my sorrow lifts from my shoulders and tearfully flows onto His. That's what a good Parent is supposed to do. A good Parent is supposed to take care of His child. A good Parent is supposed to correct and strengthen His child.

In contrast, I don't really think Mama was showing my little sister tough love when she allowed her to sit in the dark wailing and then griping at her to tell her to stop crying. Well, maybe it started out as tough love a time or two, but allowing the episodes to last for an hour or more kinda becomes cruel and unusual punishment. At least my little sister had the guts to show her feelings. I had followed Mama's macho example and had grown hard and numb.

I think several of those non-comforted crying episodes can send powerful messages to your kid: Mama doesn't care about you or your pain. You could shrivel up and die for all she cares. Your emotions are causing a commotion that's disrupting the happiness of the entire household. You better turn the light on, get ahold of yourself, and get with the program, missy.

Hmm. No wonder I need therapy again. No wonder she only cared about how my trip to the psych hospital affected her. No wonder she would spend Sunday nights holding and comforting the dog instead of my little sister or instead of me. I was raised by a total bitch.

I don't understand why God allows people like this to even have children in the first place. But I think maybe I understand why He hasn't allowed her to have any grandchildren yet. It isn't my place to judge the decisions that God makes. It isn't even my place to judge the extremely terrible decisions that other people make. But I'm stunned at how a mother can overtly hate her child, whitewash her face, and then show up for church on Sunday morning like everything is hunky-dory.

Well, fuck you, bitch, and stay the fucking hell away from me and my little sister.

In retrospect, I think maybe there could have been a zillion different ways that my little sister's crying episodes could have been handled better. Mama could have recruited me and/or Daddy to finish cooking dinner while she got off her ass and comforted my little sister. Or Daddy could have grown a pair and told Mama to grow a heart and comfort my little sister. Or Daddy could have grown a really big pair and told Mama that the next time that happens, to fuck dinner and let's all just go out to eat. Tirzah's old enough to dial the phone. She can order a pizza for all of us while we work through this thing together. Because that's what families do.

They don't ignore a valued member of the family while she's wallowing in pain in the dark.

Or Tirzah could have just punched that Mama in the nose.

Or maybe I don't have to. Maybe me not being there anymore is sending a message loud and clear: You failed as a parent, and now your offspring need to pick up the pieces. If that's how you're going to treat your children, maybe you need to just give your ovaries to somebody who will appreciate them. Jesus says that we need to forgive people from our hearts? Good. Here's all the shit that's been floating around in my heart. I am not cool with the way some bitch who called herself our Mama hurt my little sister.

Ironically, this same little sister is the one who, after I finally disowned myself from my parents, told me, "May God have mercy on your soul." I'm not really worried about my soul. However, I think the Mama who treated us like crap might need to worry about her soul.

Sigh. That felt good to type. Thank you for reading.