Holiday Doldrums

Thanksgiving is just around the corner.  I suppose I'd better buy a turkey.  I've written my holiday letter...early...because it never did get written last year.  Last Sunday, after church, I wandered in the fellowship hall, wondering why I felt no fellowship here amongst the people I've worshiped with for over a decade.  What was the matter with me?

I've always loved the holidays.  Busy times, scurrying around, a zillion things to do.  Presents to wrap, cards to send, people to see...nary an empty surface, thanks to cherished decorations in my home.  But this year, I've noticed something new...perhaps something that isn't really new...perhaps it has been there all along, stuffed down by the busyness and the baking....I am lonely.  I feel disconnected.  Out of place, somehow.  Tainted. 

My parents and sibs don't know of my abuse.  Or at least the extent of it.  I am fearful of telling them, for I suspect they would blow it off as something I ought to have "gotten over" by now.  Or they would minimize the truth of it.  Or, worse, blame me.  I've had a lifetime of blaming myself.  I don't need them to chime in.

Oh, I've told people.  My good friends, my husband and adult children.  My therapist and spiritual director.  Others who may or may not 'get it'.  Perfect strangers, even.

But at this time of the year when families seem to come front and center -- this year, I find myself realizing that I have to face this fear, this loneliness, the truth of my abuse, on my own, without the support of those who might, in other times and places, have shared the wishbone with me, and cheered the favorite team on after a feast of turkey and pumpkin pie.  It would not be safe to tell those I grew up with.  For they were among the perpetrators.

So, this holiday season, the gift that comes wrapped as part of the healing journey is bittersweet.  Truth hurts.  But truth also frees.  And, perhaps, as I oh so gingerly hold the truth that I will never have the family of origin I needed, and that they may never be able to support me on this path -- perhaps this truth will allow me to let go of that little girl's yearning, and open up my hands to accept the gift that the Holy offers: the gift of peace, truth and self-worth.  For I was made in the image of the Holy.  I am not junk. I did not cause, ask for, or deserve what happened to me.   And, today, perhaps, I am one day closer to believing that.

May the holidays be for you a time of healing, hope and reconciliation with the Holy One who made you, cherishes you and believes in you.