I don’t have to know why bad things happen; they just do.

I know that we have all heard the saying that bad things happen to good people.  Yet it seems good things happen to bad people.  It is infuriating to see those who are blatantly doing wrong but are rewarded when hardworking good people are handed bad things.  When  I am asked why bad things happen, I don’t have an answer.

However, based on the horrific childhood I was forced to have, I can look back on my life and make a few notes.  The anger I held onto in my heart was vile with the stench of sin.  I was justified in being angry.  I was justified in being hurt, but I was not justified in blaming God.

Friends keep messaging me about how well I hid it.  They keep saying they had no idea or would have helped.  I know people would have helped, but I was scared.  I knew too well the terror of crossing my mama.  The terror of making her angry kept me from speaking out.

In January the year I was 11, before the adoption was complete, she whipped me until I bled.  It was just after Christmas and the New Year. I was a kid still excited over my presents.  I heard mom call me into the kitchen to help her with something.   She told me to do something and I huffed and rolled my eyes. 

Instead of scolding me, she pushed me- her almost 6ft tall well over 200 pounds and I was barely tipping the scale to 99 pounds.  I went flying across the kitchen knocking over the coffee pot and toaster.  Coffee was spilt everywhere.  I hit my head hard against the microwave.  I was about six feet from where I started the conversation.  She looked at me with so much anger and commanded me to go to my room.  I stomped off as only a preteen can as my siblings watched.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door slam and she barreled into my room demanding me to strip.  I explained that I was on my period.  She told me to take off my pajamas and bend over.  After that, she proceeded to beat me with a handful of weeping willow branches. I can still feel the searing, white, hot pain as the unshaved broken limbs sliced through my tender skin.  She hit me for about 15 minutes before her steam ram out.  I could barely stand.  At the same moment we both looked at what she had done to my young body.

Crimson blood ran down my legs.  The front, sides, and the backs of my legs were bleeding.  You could see the holes in my legs,  where the places she carelessly tore the twigs from the limbs, punctured my thighs.  She looked me in the eye and said, “I am sorry, but I hope you learnt your lesson.”

After the beating, she called my marks my battle wounds.  She forced me to lift my skirt up and show relatives the scabs as she proudly explained herself.  No one ever once said she was wrong.  You don’t tell her she is wrong. Everyone that saw my legs said, “I bet you learnt your lesson.” Then they laughed.

For years, my siblings would joke about my spanking. They didn’t know any better.  They would frequently ask to see my scars.  My adoptive mom would ask to see them and she would touch them.  She would apologize but always say I made her do this to me. 

What did I do deserve such rage?  I was just a kid, she was an adult. Why did I have to know the have to know the bitter sting of abuse?  Why was I forced to endure molestation, rape, and then rejection of my family?  Why was I saddled with so much pain in my heart that sometimes it hurt to breathe?  Why did God let this happen to me when all I wanted to do was live for Him?

Years of holding back the anger, self doubt, bitterness and even hatred lead to this one simple answer.  I don’t know. I don’t have to have the answer to these questions.  What I did need to know was: God never meant for any of this to happen to me. 

When I realized this, all of the horrible feelings I had hoarded vanished.  At first I felt like a baby who’s favorite binky was taken away, but then I realized I was free.  The hold that these feelings had on me was gone. 

What I realized, was that all the evil done to me was by Satan’s design.  He orchestrated the whole thing, because he knew that God had a plan for my life.  I am sure Satan is working even now to cast doubt on my story, but God means for this to help Him heal the broken.

I still don’t know why all this bad happened, but as of 2014, I refuse to let bitterness and anger rule my life.  I refuse to give the devil the satisfaction of knowing he can keep me down.  I released the situation into God’s capable hands In doing so, I can finally begin my healing journey and live the life that God intended.  It will be hard and long, but God is able to comfort even my broken heart.

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10 Comments

  1. A deep part of me feels guilty for having to give you up. Although you suffered terribly you are alive, and that is more than I could have offered sweetheart, but you already know that. I wish I could bend Carol over and give her a taste of her own disciplne!

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  2. This may come as a surprise but as someone who also went through childhood traumas I see each event as something that was part of my learning. Only the strong can go through such things and stand tall at the end of the day. You are brave and strong. Dont ever forget that. 🙂

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  3. I am praying that God our Lord Jesus Christ will continue to work through you to help others that has been through some of the same thing that you have I can relate in many ways and I pray that God oneday opens the ddoorsto my heart to share my testimony thank you and god bless

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  4. Keep writing! I am a survivor of every abuse you can imagine as a child then in a 12 year abusive marriage. Writing on my blog has been so healing. I’ve also found help with a Christian counselor who uses EMDR therapy. It is like sweet balm to my broken heart. Don’t believe the lies, remember you are valuable no matter what. It’s cool you found your real mom..I was removed by the state from my mom, she died 1 yr after my 18 th bday. So much left unsaid, unsealed. She just didn’t need to be a mom, she never hurt me but didn’t stop others from doing so. Keep writing!

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