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Tag: forgiveness

  • Emerging from the shadow

    Emerging from the shadow

    Under great pressure in my job and marriage last year I was confronted by a side of myself that alienated me in my relationships with others, spilling over into unprofessional and unloving behaviour.  I was shocked by the amount of resentment, frustration and impatience I discovered that I had towards myself and others when my expectations were not met.  The perfectionist in me was devastated by my imperfections that had surfaced and seemed relentless with their internal pressure.  The ‘good girl’ that I had tried to be for all of my life was not very good at all; in fact, she was ugly! 

    At my best, I have been known as wise, responsible and inspiring; but at my ugliest I am capable of being like a dog with a bone, self-righteous, intolerant and inflexible. None of these qualities I like in others so you can imagine how little I like them in myself. 

    During this stressful and messy time, I discovered that this ugliness of mine- my brokenness, had been there all along, hidden in the shadow. But that was not all that was hidden from me. Unrealised hopes and undeveloped talents were in the shadow too. 

    The shadow self is a psychological term and one that is also referred to by a profiling tool called the Enneagram.  It is a great metaphor for the parts of ourselves that we are not consciously aware of; perhaps even in denial of or blind too.  It is not just the ugly and the offensive that stays in the shadow but there is great stuff as well.

    I am abundantly grateful that I belong to a loving God who sees all and knows all; including my shadow self.  Filled with shame and self-loathing at my ugliness, I recall praying to Jesus confessing how I struggled to love this self and wondered how others could either? I believe that in my confession and shame Jesus reached down and grabbing hold of my hand he started drawing a shrivelled me from the shadow into his grace filled light. 

    The wholeness that I seek is impossible with so much of me still in the shadow.  To emerge from the shadow, I am to face this unacceptable part that I have previously been blind to. Acknowledging the ugly is not excusing it nor does it endorse it. Trying harder is not the answer either; the more I strive to be responsible the more inflexible and resentful I end up becoming. What I need is the forgiving, healing and redeeming power of the cross; the gift of undeserved Grace and the Good News in Jesus Christ! 

    There could be many reasons for my underlying anger (yes, that is the word that sums up all those feelings). Sometimes my rights have been violated, other times my needs have not been adequately been met and other times it is a warning that I am doing too much.  Harriet Lerner in her book The Dance of Anger says a woman learns to fear her anger because it brings disapproval.  Anger exists for a reason and always deserves our respect and attention.  I readily identified myself with her ‘nice lady syndrome’.  I would rather stay silent, become tearful, be self-critical and hurt than be open to the possibility of conflict.  Being ‘good’ is exhausting work. Life has already disclosed to me that I was an unhealthy peacekeeper and an avoid-er of conflict.  What I did not know was that by ignoring my anger and shoving it down I had also compromised much of my self. Along the way I had lost the ability to know my own thoughts, feelings and dreams. I had put my energy into reading others reactions and keeping the peace. I was good at feeling guilty but evidently not that good at feeling my anger and dealing with it. 

    This road to wholeness and finding my voice requires courage and vulnerability to accept the good, the bad and the downright ugly.  Grace is needed so I do not slip back into old patterns and beliefs. Even more grace is required to dare to be who God created me to be. It is time to find my voice-to speak up, learn to ask and to own my needs and boundaries. Through prayer and a huge measure of God’s love and grace I am trusting Him to lead me in a new season as I emerge from the shadow.    

  • On loving a less than perfect mother on Mother’s Day

    On loving a less than perfect mother on Mother’s Day

    Today is Mother’s Day in Australia. The sentimental phrases about mothers started on Facebook about two weeks ago.  Instead of warm and fuzzy feelings I felt a deep sadness settle over me. Not just for my loss through my mother’s death six years ago, but for my loss during her life. I am ashamed that I have so few good memories of my Mum; hurt and disappointment seem to have got in the way. I want to honor mum; as I should. After all good girls honor their parents.  Why then am I struggling to do this?

    Many people loved my mum; including my siblings and I.  However, not everything was perfect behind closed doors.  Mental and emotional health was not something that was talked about when we were growing up nor was the impact on the children often considered. Even now I struggle to confess that my mother suffered from mental health issues.  I am still learning the impact this has had on my siblings and I.

    Growing up as the eldest of four children born within four years, I took on an idealistic and unrealistic mantle of the responsible one; the good girl.  I don’t know when I crossed the line and became responsible for my mother’s happiness and became the family’s peacekeeper?  I believe it had something to do with my mother’s struggle with anxiety and depression, my temperament and the dislike for conflict. What child does not want their mum to be happy and their parents to stop arguing?  As a teenager, I would often plead with her and retrieve a knife, a rifle or pills from her hands.  I would also clean the house first thing on a Saturday morning, before she could yell at us kids.  I did lots of things as an adult too to try to make my mum happy.  It feels like I could never quite get there. No matter what I did, it was never enough.

    At some stage I moved from wanting to make her happy to helping her to change and find happiness herself.  At the wise age of twenty-seven, I thought that if I could make changes then mum could too.  It was her GP that told me to let go of the mother I thought was inside and accept that this was my mother.  Sadly, I do not think I ever did this.  There was too much frustration in the way.  I struggled all my adult life wanting my mum to be somebody else and failed to accept her for who she was, flaws and all.  I think my sisters did this so much better than I. 

    I harboured frustrations, resentment and hurt for the loss of the mother that I would have liked to have had.  Sometimes it felt like she had an uncanny way of throwing back my fears and flaws when it seemed I was not good or responsible enough.  Shortly before her cancer diagnosis, Mum was unhappy with me because I had not spoken up in a family falling-out.  She punished me by not wishing me a happy birthday.  And she accused me of only doing my religious duty when several months later, I dropped off a gift and a card to her for Mother’s Day. I was trying so hard to please her and please my God by honouring her. It felt like I had failed.    

    I had put all my energy into pleasing her and others and pushed down or ignored my needs, my desires and my ideas.  It took me years to discover and accept who I am when I am not being the responsible one or the good girl.  This was and is not healthy for me or my relationships with others; including my mother. Forgiving my mum for not being perfect was essential to letting go.  Finding my voice has been an important part of my healing journey.

    Along the way, I have shed many tears in private and I have called out to Jesus to come and heal my very sore heart. I learnt to press into the pain, own my feelings and not stuff them down.   For someone that liked pleasing people; especially my mother, I had to get used to the feelings of being seen as the mean girl when I set boundaries; especially when I was used to the role of peacekeeper and one who usually rescues the situation.   That lesson did not come easily. Learning to express my needs requires honesty and can mean rejection; a feeling I have to downgrade. 

    Compassion and empathy for mum has come in waves.  It came at unscheduled moments. It came while watching Sandra Bullock’s character wrestle with her relationship with her mother in the movie “Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood”.  It comes when I recognise in myself similarities to mum as I age.  It came when reading a Brene Brown book and accepting ‘What if she was doing the very best she could?’

    When we found out mum was very sick, I dropped everything and loved my mum the only way I knew how; I did things for her.  I drove her six hundred kilometres to admit her into hospital. I often visited with her; sometimes giving Dad the opportunity to return home for a break and look after their home.  When she was released to come home to die, I drove to Brisbane to pick her up.  For the last few months, she was in palliative care at home, I bathed her and changed her sheets. I visited her most mornings and every afternoon to check in on her.  We never really talked about things she said.  Somehow, they were not important anymore.   

    I am learning to live with the sadness of a mother gone.  I am grateful for a loving God that is at work healing my sore heart and helping me to forgive and understand. My heart is encouraged knowing that mum loved each of her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, as best she could. She loved being a mum. And I loved her.   Happy Mother’s Day Mum.