Success Iceberg

A Real Doll?

 

Decades ago, I received a Dolly Parton doll on Christmas morning. There she was in my stocking, paper- white skin, long blonde hair, wearing a red and silver jumpsuit, holding a guitar. I played with her, never focusing on her most famous physical attribute, her ample bustline; I just thought she was “pretty.”

Around the time I was diagnosed with Breast cancer, while sifting through a box of old toys, I came across her again. Her shoes were missing, her jumpsuit was tattered and her guitar was nowhere to be found. But there she was. Same paper- white skin, same blonde hair, although a little disheveled. And yes, the same prominent bustline.

It was poignant. Gazing at her, I couldn’t get away from the reality of my life, then, and my life, circa now. Circa now, without my breasts.

Yeah.

I recalled the hours of doll play as a little girl. I remembered focusing my aspirations on these totems of femininity. “When I grow up,” I told myself, “I’m going to be just like her.”

Remembering that childhood assertion, it gave me pause. How innocent and simple.

Yet, in reality, in actual life unfolding, how complicated and even, heartbreaking. It goes beyond losing breasts in a cancer context. It also speaks to the promise attached to image that we, as children are bombarded with as we play. Childhood playtime exists to stimulate our imaginations, to discover who we are, what we like and who we endeavor to become when we “grow up.”

I’ve written and spoken extensively about the harmful power image wields when it comes to subtle indoctrination of rigid messages. Most of that indoctrination targets the female population. Having survived my own thorny experiences with disordered eating, including anorexia and bulimia, I was no stranger to unrealistic body image messages sent to us from the get-go. Turn on the television. Flip through a magazine. Look at social media. How many filters and editing options exist to make our avatars look their absolute best? What about the diet and fitness industries, selling pills, powders, plans and equipment? We learn that a pretty image is important and it pays off.

As children, who play with dolls, indeed, we are learning rigid image messages in those formative years: long, toned legs, tiny waists, ample cleavage, the perfect hair and the perfect face. I know it messed me up. I played for hours at a time, daily, with this 3-D plastic form.

There was no way that child version of myself could ever know that most little girls don’t grow up to look like the dolls of their childhood playtime.

“The body type portrayed in advertising as the ideal is possessed naturally by only 5% of the American females.”

The Renfrew Center Foundation for Eating Disorders, “Eating Disorders: A Summary of Issues, Statistics, and Resources”

Some little girls will grow up and will not have the measurements of their beloved doll; they may conclude their bodies are “wrong” because of that reality. Some girls will grow up and realize they have a face or a hair color/texture that doesn’t match with the doll from playtime; and they may feel ashamed because of it, so ashamed, they decide to reject their hair and bleach their skin. Some little girls will grow up to become adults that, yes, get a Breast cancer diagnosis and have their breasts altered or removed; unfortunately, they may feel like “less of a woman.”

No one thinks about this “growing up” part of life when we’re children. Aspirations, dreams, hopes, imaginations, yes. But not loss, pain, struggle, disappointment, life’s difficult realities.

So, how do we deal with doll play? Barbie and her cohorts are here to stay, because, let’s face it, children still love to use their imaginations, via dress up clothes, accessories, “dream houses.”

Within the last few years, Mattel has made strides incorporating different body and face shapes, hair colors and textures, even tapping into dolls with disabilities. But, I have yet to see a “Mastectomy Barbie” or an “In-Recovery from Addiction and Disorder Barbie” doll option. And, more than likely, if there was such a doll, most kids probably would not play with it. It’d be considered a “weak seller.”

One can argue creating such a doll is going too far; it’s inappropriate. Too morbid for innocent child’s play, perhaps?

I don’t know. But I think it’s worth exploring creating toys that are not perfect beauties. We’re making some progress. I’ve seen more dolls with wheelchairs and prosthetic limbs; I’ve seen dolls with bald heads to support someone with cancer or Alopecia. I have even seen dolls with “stickers” of scars or cellulite that you can apply to the doll.

And that’s great. But should we go a little further? As we prepare children to become adults, should we have real depictions of what some “twists and turns” look like?

My Dolly Parton doll doesn’t represent to me what I’ve lost; my body was never her exact doll shape to begin with. Rather, I look at her now, post-diagnosis, post- Breast cancer surgery and I see how far I’ve come from fixating on a certain “image” of beauty and femininity. I have learned I’ve become a woman who has quite outgrown the doll.

That, maybe, is the message we should teach our children: don’t be the doll, exceed the doll…by being who you are.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

 

 

Morning

The Two Daughters

 

St. Augustine once uttered this powerful statement:

“Hope has two beautiful daughters: anger, at the way things are and courage, to work for change.”

Upon reading it, my mind went first to the Serenity Prayer and then to how hope plays its role in addiction and recovery.

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

Indeed, hope is not a neutral word. We have feelings about it, be they negative or positive.

And, maybe, that is the first stumbling block. Perhaps we get tangled not in this word and theory, but rather in its opposite representative: hopelessness.

“Hope deferred maketh the heart sick...”

Proverbs 13:12

For many of us, that is all we see concerning our addictions and our issues. And it spotlights a larger spiritual challenge: we believe our own skewed perception, rather than trusting in a higher authority. We entertain vain imaginations (2 Corinthians 10:5), erecting them as more powerful than the Most High’s Divine Nature (Jeremiah 32:27).

Proverbs 26:12 nails it; we are conceited.

“Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him.”

Still, eventually, life comes a-calling, requiring we rouse ourselves from the complacency and the self-defeating attitudes we possess concerning hope.

St. Augustine’s quote may not directly manifest verbatim. More often, a direct revelation slaps us instead:

“We’re sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

Maybe we are literally lying in a pool of our own sick. Maybe we’ve lost a passion for life. Maybe we’ve had hard destruction show us just how much addiction steals and kills.

But, part of Divine Providence’s great love for us involves the startling, uncomfortable wakeup call. And there is no longer any snooze button to press concerning ourselves. We are forced to admit...

“For what I am doing, I do not understand...”

Romans 7:15

The hope daughters, often nestled within the Serenity Prayer, show us we need to approach a number of things, including our attitude toward hope itself, differently.

First, we need to make the decision.

The crux of much of this component’s complexity involves the word, “grant.”

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...”
“Grant” conveys we have picked a perspective; it is a call to action. Only, here, in the prayer’s context, we are asking for Divine guidance to take the lead.

When we ask “grant” in the Most High’s direction, it conveys we are decided His way is better than ours and much-needed. Therefore, hope’s two daughters, solidify our commitment to change and health instead of same-old, same old dysfunction and disease.

All well and good, unless we interrupt that with our disordered, stubborn selves and insist on taking the decision back and sabotaging that single-minded decision.

“A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.”

James 1:8

And come on, as addicts, this is natural and easy to do. For, whether or not we know it, many of us are still fixated on the hopelessness.

One can argue, I suppose, we are ADDICTED TO that hopelessness.

If things are bleak, why even try? If things are only doom and gloom, why not slide into oblivion with our beloved addiction? Nothing- and no one- else matters.

And it takes conscious, deliberate, unpleasant work to confront and replace that.

If we insist on remaining selfish, then, inevitably, we are here...

“For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there is disorder and every evil thing.”
James 3: 16

At first glance, we may delude ourselves into thinking we are living the life. Yes, things are exactly how we want them. Drunken stupors, binges, spending sprees, reckless behaviors and irresponsibility may be fun for AWHILE, but there is a price tag attached. And life is quite a collection agent. Sooner or later...

“...when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

James 1:15

Death often gets our attention. It doesn’t need to be the death of a person either. Death can happen to anything, including potential, relationships, career, good health and peace.

And, when this death comes, the hopelessness, again, rears its ugly head, attempting to convince us, of all things, Elohim is responsible, not us.

Pretty audacious, huh?

We all arrive at this misguided conclusion. Because it’s easier than being accountable for our hearts, minds and subsequent decisions and actions.

Yet none of that attitude will prevent spiritual truth. We are smacked with 1 Corinthians 14:33’s meaning. 

“For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace...”

However, many of us, especially if we are struggling with addiction, can tend to view this scripture as this...

“For God is not the author of difficult, painful solutions, but of easy, pain and change-free peace...”

We want a different book, author and reality; we want our passive indulgence. We’re not interested in, again, doing the work of hope.

But, until we hang out with the two daughters, our lives will continue to slide into further mess.

And, just like life, where we don’t have to like every person, we don’t even have to LIKE these two hope daughters. We don’t have to like “anger, at the way things are and courage, to work for change.”

But, if we are “sick and tired of being sick and tired,” then, we’re going to have to embrace this conclusion...

We have to DO something differently concerning what we both accept and change:

“...courage to change the things I can...”

Addiction is not courage; it’s fear. Addiction cowers from challenging life circumstances in attempt to avoid the unpleasant truth. It hides, lies and denies.

“Uphold me according unto thy word, that I may live: and let me not be ashamed of my hope.”

Psalms 119:116

We, as addicts, need not be ashamed of that fear. But we are not exempt from facing it. Courage is a skill.

We need to decide and act upon Divine hope’s two daughters in our lives; and that takes courage.

We are not left alone in that pursuit.

“Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it, whenever you turn to the right hand, and whenever turn to the left.’”

Isaiah 30:21

As far as “the way” is concerned, it’s not as mystical as we’d believe it to be. Rather, it is often the practical, unglamorous and unpleasant.

“For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little:”

Isaiah 28:10

It is such things as a Twelve Step program, an accountability-oriented sponsor mentoring our choices, unflinching therapy to address past trauma and, underscoring any and all education and help avenues, our honest willingness to participate in those “ways.”

Indeed, when we “stop fighting our help,” an unexpected result often occurs: hope-filled joy.

“Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope.”

Psalms 16:9

Yes, rest happens. The burden is lightened, as our unhealthy addictive behavior changes enough to remove its destruction. Our Creator’s desired plans for us now have more room in which to flourish.

But, again, here is a tricky thing concerning even that rest: there is a work there. There is a decision and an effort we need to execute.

“The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints,”

Ephesians 1:18

 And so, we need to piggyback on Ephesians’ instruction.

We realize we are not the only factor in the equation (cue Divine Wisdom):

“... and wisdom to know the difference.”

All roads lead back to our Source.

“O LORD, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.”

Jeremiah 10:23

The Almighty comes from a place of hope and infinite possibility. For us, this is often easier said than it is lived.

Nevertheless, hope’s two daughters challenge us with action, change, the unfamiliar and the dreaded “p” word: patience.

“But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.”

Romans 8:25

Motivational anger and its wisdom show us there is more to who and where we are now.

“...anger, at the way things are...”

Divine discontent keeps us growing toward the fuller human beings we are created to be. Addiction stunts that process. And, of course, Elohim is not about stagnation.

Therefore, our Creator, wanting our ultimate good, will work with- and in spite of- imperfect circumstances.

“... and courage, to work for change.”

He will specifically create learning labs which work to improve our lives and enhance the blessing He wants to give to us individually.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go: I will guide you with My eye.”

Psalm 32:8

We all need to challenge and change our associations with and approaches to hope.

What many of us already believe about it is an effortless, passive reality. We don’t connect the dots between hope and decided effort on our part.

We just, somehow, hope that hope will manifest automatically, easily and magically fix things.

But this is unrealistic. Yes, hope is a wonderful blessing. But it is not far removed from a scripture most of us never consider:

“Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work.”

Exodus 20:9

It’s not to promote rigid legalism. Rather, we need to remember hope, recovery and healthy attitudes and choices are ALL daily habits. They don’t just arrive on their own. We need to do our part in the process.

If we choose to engage in this process, it is simply a matter of time before we realize St. Augustine was spot on about hope’s two daughters: they are, indeed, beautiful.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

 

It Takes One To Know One

 

“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 1:9

 

It’s been said “It takes one to know one.” I now see this concept repeated in my life.

The first occurrence? Well, that was at the apex of my anorexic condition. I was a college freshman, hell-bent on distancing myself from my teenage overweight body as possible. Hence, the serious restriction of calories, interspersed with starvation periods and excessive exercise (up to six hours a day).

My freshman year, therefore, found me whittling to smaller weights. To those unfamiliar of my former self, I was only seen as thin. But, to those who knew me “way back when?” Well, I couldn’t quite convince them everything was okay.

Carrie (not her real name) attended both the same high school and now the same college as I did; she was also a recovering anorexic. As I started the year, she was keenly interested in my changed appearance. It started out casual; she remarked about my weight loss. However, by spring, I was at a disturbingly low weight- and that’s when she pounced.

During that term, we took the same world history course and Carrie pulled me aside one day after class. She, once again, remarked about my weight loss. And then she revealed her battle with anorexia and expressed concerned that I was veering down the same path.

I was “caught,” but, as eating disorder sufferers are often prone to do, I told her I was “fine.” No, of course, I was not anorexic. My racing mind panicked, “Don’t be ridiculous! That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.” But Carrie read my mail.

Once I extricated myself from that encounter, I thought I had fooled everyone.

Nope.

Cut to the middle of that following summer. Carrie and I both came from a small town; it wasn’t unheard of for us to run into each other. Both of us were living at home until the fall term started. And, because there was only one major shopping mall in our small town locale, this was the meeting place of yet another “It takes one to know one” encounter.

Because of my already intense eating disorder behaviors, I tried to occupy my mind with anything I could think of. One of my latest “answers” was crafting.

Yes, that’s right, I said crafting.

I guess I believed pipe cleaners and glitter could save me. So, I was a regular at the mall’s hobby store.

I was close to my lowest weight, attempting to keep from passing out, while looking at the dollhouse miniatures section. I was staring at teeny furniture when bam. Carrie appeared out of nowhere. I felt busted. I had lost another ten pounds. She and I started some chitchat, but, c’mon, we both knew the score. Eventually, she brought up the dreaded words, “eating disorder.” And I had no where I had to be. I had no class I needed to escape to. I just had to stand there in the hobby store and be cornered by the truth.

“It takes one to know one” was getting too close to home.

And it wouldn’t be until many years later when I would experience the other side of this phenomenon. After the publication of my book, I had a signing event in Oregon.

A young anorexic woman was eyeing me for the entire four hours of the event. She kept pacing in front of the bookstore. But she kept her distance. There was this weird synergy of “I know you know” going on between us. Finally, after four hours of her pacing, lurking and eyeing me, she rushed the book table, spurting, “I had gone through it, but not the six hour exercise stuff you did.” And then she took off. I think she left skid marks.

In that moment, I saw how when we are in any kind of dysfunction or disorder, there’s still a part of us which wants help.

Sometimes, it does “take one to know one.”

Right now, is there someone out there who is experiencing the exact same thing? Is it you? It’s worth reaching out.

Disordered eating and image issues can affect anyone, regardless of age, gender or socio-economic factors. Just because someone doesn’t “fit” the stereotype, doesn’t mean they’re not afflicted. If you suspect someone is suffering, please reach out with love and support. Here are some helpful strategies to do just that.

When You Want to Help Someone You Care About

What to do if…

If your child is younger than 18

Get professional help immediately. You have a legal and moral responsibility to get your child the care s/he needs. Don’t let tears, tantrums, or promises to do better stop you. Begin with a physical exam and psychological evaluation.

If the physician recommends hospitalization, do it. People die from these disorders, and sometimes they need a structured time out to break entrenched patterns.

If the counselor asks you to participate in family sessions, do so. Children spend only a few hours a week with their counselors. The rest of the time they live with their families. You need as many tools as you can get to help your child learn new ways of coping with life.

If your friend is younger than 18

Tell a trusted adult—parent, teacher, coach, pastor, school nurse, school counselor, etc.—about your concern. If you don’t, you may unwittingly help your friend avoid the treatment s/he needs to get better.

Even though it would be hard, consider telling your friend’s parents why you are concerned. S/he may be hiding unhealthy behaviors from them, and they deserve to know so they can arrange help and treatment. If you cannot bear to do this yourself, ask your parents or perhaps the school nurse for help.

If the person is older than 18

Legally the person is now an adult and can refuse treatment if s/he is not ready to change. Nevertheless, reach out. Tell her/him that you are concerned. Be gentle. Suggest that there has to be a better way to deal with life than starving and stuffing. Encourage professional help, but expect resistance and denial. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink—even when he is thirsty—if he is determined to follow his own path.

 

ANRED: When You Want to Help Someone You Care About.

www.anred.com

 Used with permission.

 

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

Get On Your Way

To Protect Your Peace...

Self-Care Ideas

Advice From Spa Cat...

Oh Chaplain, My Chaplain!

 

Cancer initiates a wide spectrum of treatment approaches. Blood is drawn, we are scanned, operated on, injected and burned. We can be pumped with hormones, have body parts removed and see specialist after specialist. It can send the toughest of us into mental breakdown.

Before I go any further, please allow me to introduce myself. I am known for my writing, mostly of a sort of Christian/spiritual bent. I think I can hear your eye roll right now. I mention my “background” to give context to my current ground. I consider myself to be a person of faith, holding tight to certain principles of that faith.

But, with that being said, I have, over the years, evolved, morphed and changed. Like most of us out there. Some people would say I have even “strayed.”

However, it’s not that simple.

I had lived a life, repeatedly smacking into hypocritical walls and a lack of compassion within a religious setting. For years, I had reached out for help and support concerning both my eating disorder struggles and the abuse from my childhood.

Once, I had one pastor who, upon my request for help stated, “Counseling is not really something I do. I suggest you talk to someone else.”

You mean, like a pastor?!?!?!?

Yeah, that’s typically the stuff I encountered. “Church hurt” is often how it’s described and, man, was I ever!

So, now, the dilemma. After distancing myself from “the church,” I was diagnosed with Breast cancer. Now what?

I went through testing, waiting, freaking out, getting my mastectomy and radiation treatments. I saw specialists; I made tough decisions. I prayed, a/k/a, I begged and whined.

And, after doing this for a while, I cautiously enquired about the chaplain associated with the Cancer Care department in my clinic. I called her extension and left a rambling message about my concerns that my version of spirituality and her version may not be able to co-exist. I had done the cliché church program. I was not looking to do that now. Would she, could she, accept that?

I was skeptical, because, when most of us hear the word, “Chaplain,” we automatically think of a straight-laced pastor in an equally straight-laced dogma.

It can be intimidating, as, in our very gritty cancer experiences, our words and responses often appear to be less than “Holy.” What if we let an “F-bomb” accidently drop? What if we’re not “cleaned up enough” for the Chaplain? What if we’re too sad, too anxious or too angry, because of our cancer and life experiences, to withstand the scripture solutions doled out to us?

So, now, not only do we have cancer, but we also have additional fear and guilt added on to it?

Yeah, sign me up for that.

Let’s call her “Serenity.” It’s not her real name, but it might as well be. The woman is peaceful. I, indeed, respect Serenity’s privacy and, let’s face it, naming her “Mimsy” is not going to cut it.

So, this chaplain, Serenity, returned my voicemail and we spoke about how she and I would approach things. I told her about my denominational background, how life had taken me through some twists and turns. I told her I had a significant faith experience that sent me moving away from my denominational start and into the land of the megachurches. From that place, I encountered tremendous growth, opportunities… and also being “church hurt.” I saw, firsthand, the priority image, money and hierarchy played; often, they were emphasized to the detriment of helping “the flock.”

I was explaining this to Serenity and she was nonchalant about it. No ruffled feathers of panic like I was used to. She told me she operated from a universal approach, all-inclusive. After all, cancer patients come in all sizes, beliefs and faiths. She herself, had roots in Catholicism. But, over the years she admitted she has “branched out.”

Okay, so, we’re branching. I think this could work.

And, since that initial phone call, Serenity and I have been branching out on many cancer-related themes. She has the personal experience to back it up; she’s a Breast cancer survivor, herself.

We have talked a lot about the fear, the uncertainty. She knows I’m “high strung” and, over our conversations, has encouraged me to locate my “anchors,” the solid, dependable structures that exist for me whenever fear, change and painful things occur. Writing is one of those anchors.

Likewise, she’s advised me to keep “a short horizon.” I’m to focus on here and now more than the weeks, months and years that intimidate me. This is a struggle; I’m a planner. I’m also a catastrophizer. Chicken Little, sky is falling, let’s build a cancer bunker kind of stuff.

(I’m a great party guest).

And, throughout our sessions, she has always respected my boundaries. That’s a biggie for me, having come from childhood abuse and toxic relationships. “No” is my close friend.

One meaningful incident illustrating her respect of my limits involved a phone conversation that was particularly intense. In our past meetings, she and I would typically close with prayer. And I was okay with that… typically.

But this conversation was too heavy. I felt I needed to end our conversation; I requested that she not pray with me over the phone, but on her own. I wasn’t “anti- prayer.” I was anti-further upsetting myself. Things were just too intense for me. Her response?

“I’m glad you said that.”

Wow.

She didn’t try to strong-arm me into Albrecht Dürer’s “Praying Hands?” She respected me, in my less than Kumbaya mental state and supported the truth of that moment?

Uncharted spiritual territory!

This locked it in for me; she and I can continue talking. There was no judging, no coercion. There was no “you’re wrong and evil; repent, sinner!”

No. There was “I will support you; tell me what that support looks like.”

And, I think that’s what true Chaplaincy should look like. It doesn’t come with Ecclesiastical robes, a priest’s collar, or even the mention of a denominationally-specific, incarnation of God. It is support and the recognition that yes, there is something at work, larger than us, freeing us from needing to control everything (as much as our control freak selves fight that).

But it always comes back to support, a listening ear, not a judging mouth or mind.

Spirituality can, indeed, be a large piece of cancer recovery: prayer, meditation, a code of conduct we follow. The chaplain experience can be a bridge between full-on religion and practical life coach.

And, each of us needs to take some time to figure out what that means for us. Cancer or no cancer.

Indeed, on a grander scale, it’s about the vicissitudes of ever-changing life. We all experience change, death, loss, pain, upset in plans. Chaplaincy can speak to all of it. What are we wanting? What are we needing? It’s not about proselytizing; it’s about genuinely adjusting to our humanity, in all of our brutal complexity, with another fellow heartbeat. Sometimes, that involves simply sitting, with no immediate solutions and being aware we are heard, seen and cared for.

Is this the true religion? I don’t know. But is it truly help?

Yes, I believe it is.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

 

 

Start Showing Up As Her

Batman T-Shirt!

What Mental Illness Looks Like...

The E is Silent

“The E is Silent” discusses a stance taken concerning life’s unanswered questions.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2019/05/the-e-is-silent-discusses-a-stance-taken-concerning-lifes-unanswered-questions/

 

Navigating With the Navigator

“Navigating With the Navigator” shares the impact a breast nurse navigator can make.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2019/05/navigating-with-the-navigator-shares-the-impact-a-breast-nurse-navigator-can-make/

Be Like Water

“Be Like Water” discusses the insight that comes from incorporating Bruce Lee’s famous statement.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2019/05/be-like-water-discusses-the-insight-that-comes-from-incorporating-bruce-lees-famous-statement/

Know Your Circle

That's Code For...

Reality Check, Manipulators

Florence Nightingale

 

“You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor.”

Deuteronomy 5:20

Who would have guessed a doll could teach me about secrecy and lying?

When I was a child, I received a much-desired china doll, actually named after Florence Nightingale. So, obviously, when my mother bought her for me, I was thrilled, so thrilled, I shared my excitement with the wrong person: my dad.

 “Earthquake, thunder, fire and fathers.”

Japanese Proverb

He was, indeed, abusive. If my dad didn’t have a good day, neither did we. He’d threaten us with each and every infraction. His booming voice would overpower us. Mom, like most abused partners, spent her energy begging and trying to bargain for a less harsh treatment. I would hide, usually unsuccessfully. He’d hunt me until he could corner and terrorize me according to his desired specifications. This explosive yelling period usually lasted two or three days. And then there would next be the silent treatment of anxious tension, lasting another two or three days. Mom and I knew better than to talk to him during this phase. Finally, there would be the relief phase, a return to “normalcy.” We couldn’t predict how or when it would happen. Just suddenly, my dad would start talking to us and we’d resume our lives. He never apologized. Mom and I were just thankful we made it through another round…until the next time he’s unhappy, then, of course, the whole thing would repeat.

Anyway, back to Florence. Here is where I learned how to lie.

The Power of Deceit:

When I made the decision to share my joy about the doll with him, he erupted in anger. Florence was a waste of money spiting his very psyche. Threats and terror were next; he tried to take her away from me.

As that young child, I didn’t know enough about the abuse we lived. I only experienced how “Daddy was mad sometimes.” Adding further complication, as only a child can do, I honestly believed my dad would be happy by my happiness. I hadn’t counted on his wrath. I hadn’t counted on him wanting to hurt me, simply to secure/affirm his power.

I am still astounded I wasn’t physically hurt. I’m equally surprised Florence wasn’t either. He could have easily smashed her china head against a wall.

But, the eruption was trauma enough. Following the abuse cycle our home established all too well, I endured his screaming, laid low as much as possible and immediately hid Florence from his view.

And, in that instant, I learned how truth was not safe, nor desired. My dad didn’t accept the new doll. I learned lying protects; truth hurts. And I ran with it, incorporating that mantra into my forming addictive tendencies.

“He whose tongue is deceitful falls into trouble.”

Proverbs 17:20

I needed to do whatever was necessary. I learned how to make something pretty on the outside, no matter how ugly or painful it is on the inside. And my frustrated wounding eventually manifested in things like eating disorders, perfectionism and constant anxiety. Keep quiet; don’t tell. Be unheard. Continue to walk on eggshells.

Secrecy and deceit were weapons in my arsenal when it came to “staying safe.” No one was interested in the truth anyway. What had honesty gotten me? Punishment? Terror? Screaming? Felling worthless?

I learned, via Florence, anything which brought me happiness was dicey, at best, in the eyes of my dad.

So, no more “show and tell” of any doll or toy I received.

But, more than that, I learned to conceal weakness and desire; he could easily squash it. No more “show and tell” of who was. I employed stoicism. I always had my guard up, because I could never predict when his mood would swing in a menacing direction.

And that only escalated my anxiety: disordered eating, emaciation, suicidal thoughts and an oppressive drive to be the out of reach embodiment of “perfect” were all attempts to survive the warzone, actual or self-imposed.

“The truth shall set you free.”

John 8:32

In the years since, through the various stages of my faith walk, a large form of healing has sprung to my attention: there are no secrets from the Most High.

“I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.”

Job 42:2

At first, I was freaked out about that. I had visions of Him ordering thunderbolts and lightning strikes to smite me for, well, being me. I was quick to emotionally- and physically- flinch every time I screwed up. Every sin. Every shortcoming. Every less-than-ideal situation.

But then, gradually- and imperfectly- I breathed a spiritual sigh of relief. He knows. Elohim knows. And so far, no traces of lightning singes coming off from my person.

Nevertheless, I could not get around Truth, regardless of my permission or comfort level: I was choosing to participate in behavior which was not healthy.

“There is a way that seems right to a man. But its end is the way of death.”

Proverbs 14:12

My addictive tendencies and their assorted behaviors, reverted back to my childish hide and seek game toward Truth. The lessons I learned about secrecy in childhood need not carry over into adulthood.

“Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of Elohim...”

2 Corinthians 10:5

And if they did, as that adult, I had to own my active choice in that.

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”

1 Corinthians 13:11

I still have Florence Nightingale. Sometimes, I display her on my book shelf, remembering what I have learned from her.

And part of that lesson involves how nothing is a surprise to the Father of us all. He knows the complicated backstory, the triggers and traumas. He knows how we struggle, cope and fail when it comes to dealing with these factors.

He knows we play hide and seek- especially from Him...especially from ourselves.

He knows.

 “Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.”

Matthew 6:8

And that knowing never disqualifies the love.

In all of our experiences and struggles, how do our beliefs concerning truth and secrecy impact each of us, even now? Scripture is clear:

“For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither anything hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.”

Luke 8:17

Secrets, silence, lies, denial: they are all heart and life issues. We do learn what we live.

Once we know this then, how do we live WITH that reality?

We choose that response.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse