ROSA
The darkness felt grainy like old movies shot at night or a mouth full of dry, black dirt. Neon flashed their invitations green and yellow while drumbeats pulsated through the vehicle. I could almost taste the alcohol and swooned from the smoke of weed. Cars lined the street in an endless crawl. Men lined the sidewalks, and young girls lined the walls soliciting goods. Thirty cents a trick and treat the goods any way you want.
In my mind, I moved slowly toward one young girl, 16 years old. We met many years ago. Rosa knew her chosen vocation was not a choice or something she dreamed of doing as a little girl. Old men, dirty and drunk with yellowed teeth, approached her like a father. Rosa drew toward their strength and age, and longed for a tender moment to linger in their arms. She woke repulsed next to their nakedness, whiskered face, and disheveled hair. Young men came to her: arrogant, fun, and eager to try it all. They left her bruised and often bleeding.
During her week in prison, guards taunted Rosa and called her trash. She had come to believe she was not like trash but was actually born worthless refuse. Their taunts were real to her but the words no longer hurt…except maybe some rare times alone when she dreamed of dazzling light, pretty dresses, and a Cinderella ball. But there was no fairy godmother, and she could never quite see the face of the Prince.
We drove through the streets and watched as Shame laid hands on this woman and the next. She stroked their hair and then jerked tight the chains that linked each one to her. The key dangled from her fingers. If chosen for a pittance, she traded what she knew was precious. If not chosen, she ached in poverty and weakened as hope trickled out in now broken droplets. Either way, she walked with this shadowy figure, drawn by accusation and promise.
Rosa knew her well and heard her voice cry louder as disease weakened the body once innocent. One day forgotten, she disappeared and left the way of Shame to join hands with one called Death. His form was irresistible, and for the promise of desire she grasped his hand and fell to the street. Friends gathered. The state paid for burial. Death’s promise, like so many she had known, disintegrated and when her soul awoke and looked out over the still, dry desert of scorching wind, once again she lifted hands of bondage toward the beckoning voice of Shame.
And the Prince cried…
The darkness felt grainy like old movies shot at night or a mouth full of dry, black dirt. Neon flashed their invitations green and yellow while drumbeats pulsated through the vehicle. I could almost taste the alcohol and swooned from the smoke of weed. Cars lined the street in an endless crawl. Men lined the sidewalks, and young girls lined the walls soliciting goods. Thirty cents a trick and treat the goods any way you want.
In my mind, I moved slowly toward one young girl, 16 years old. We met many years ago. Rosa knew her chosen vocation was not a choice or something she dreamed of doing as a little girl. Old men, dirty and drunk with yellowed teeth, approached her like a father. Rosa drew toward their strength and age, and longed for a tender moment to linger in their arms. She woke repulsed next to their nakedness, whiskered face, and disheveled hair. Young men came to her: arrogant, fun, and eager to try it all. They left her bruised and often bleeding.
During her week in prison, guards taunted Rosa and called her trash. She had come to believe she was not like trash but was actually born worthless refuse. Their taunts were real to her but the words no longer hurt…except maybe some rare times alone when she dreamed of dazzling light, pretty dresses, and a Cinderella ball. But there was no fairy godmother, and she could never quite see the face of the Prince.
We drove through the streets and watched as Shame laid hands on this woman and the next. She stroked their hair and then jerked tight the chains that linked each one to her. The key dangled from her fingers. If chosen for a pittance, she traded what she knew was precious. If not chosen, she ached in poverty and weakened as hope trickled out in now broken droplets. Either way, she walked with this shadowy figure, drawn by accusation and promise.
Rosa knew her well and heard her voice cry louder as disease weakened the body once innocent. One day forgotten, she disappeared and left the way of Shame to join hands with one called Death. His form was irresistible, and for the promise of desire she grasped his hand and fell to the street. Friends gathered. The state paid for burial. Death’s promise, like so many she had known, disintegrated and when her soul awoke and looked out over the still, dry desert of scorching wind, once again she lifted hands of bondage toward the beckoning voice of Shame.
And the Prince cried…
No Hell in a Hand-Basket
Think all is lost and life is headed for “hell in a hand-basket?” Keep reading(listening). . .
The motel bed made a thud when I sat up. A burst pipe in our home four months earlier landed us for an unknown amount of time in a motel. Morning came quite early, much as it might have for Abraham, as he waited to offer Issac to God. When I looked out the window nothing moved me, not even the fall array of colors. Mid sigh, my phone lit up with notification of a text from a friend in another state. This made me smile. For a moment.
The smile, almost hope, turned back into a much deeper sigh. My friend texted to request prayer for her husband. She had lost two, one to cancer, and another to a stroke. Now her joy faced yet another round of difficult health news.
My words to God began almost immediately as my heart connected the miles from Colorado to Tennessee. I have to admit they turned a little dark from there. My words out loud were something in the vein of “God the whole world is going to hell in a hand-basket.” Our Father was on duty that morning though, and His words to me were quick and accurate.
“Wendy, whatever happens, hell is not your future.”
Whoosh! God slam-dunked wisdom right into my soul. He made it clear that our hand-basket is full of mercy, grace—and Jesus! Just like Abraham as he climbed the mountain with Isaac and a good supply of fire starter, God had already provided. For Abraham, it was a lamb caught in the thicket. For us, it is Jesus. His love took hell off the table and whatever we face, however hard it may be, it will be nothing like the embers designed for our Enemy and his minions.
The passage in Genesis 22 says that Abraham took the ram and offered it “in the place of his son.” That is what happened for us as well. God offered His Son, the precious Lamb of God, in place of us. Now that’s something to offer Light into our day. A Light that will follow beside us on the darkest paths.
Think all is lost and life is headed for “hell in a hand-basket?” Keep reading (listening). . .
“Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in the place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh which means “the Lord will provide.”
Our hand-basket may look scratchy and dirty inside, but it is not on a journey to darkness. Rather, it holds a Light personified in the Son of God. Our Savior. Our Brother. Our Husband. Our Lord. Partner. Friend. The One Who longs to sit beside us and speak truth to us—when its dark or not. He brings the Light.
Think all is lost and life is headed for “hell in a hand-basket?” Keep reading(listening). . .
The motel bed made a thud when I sat up. A burst pipe in our home four months earlier landed us for an unknown amount of time in a motel. Morning came quite early, much as it might have for Abraham, as he waited to offer Issac to God. When I looked out the window nothing moved me, not even the fall array of colors. Mid sigh, my phone lit up with notification of a text from a friend in another state. This made me smile. For a moment.
The smile, almost hope, turned back into a much deeper sigh. My friend texted to request prayer for her husband. She had lost two, one to cancer, and another to a stroke. Now her joy faced yet another round of difficult health news.
My words to God began almost immediately as my heart connected the miles from Colorado to Tennessee. I have to admit they turned a little dark from there. My words out loud were something in the vein of “God the whole world is going to hell in a hand-basket.” Our Father was on duty that morning though, and His words to me were quick and accurate.
“Wendy, whatever happens, hell is not your future.”
Whoosh! God slam-dunked wisdom right into my soul. He made it clear that our hand-basket is full of mercy, grace—and Jesus! Just like Abraham as he climbed the mountain with Isaac and a good supply of fire starter, God had already provided. For Abraham, it was a lamb caught in the thicket. For us, it is Jesus. His love took hell off the table and whatever we face, however hard it may be, it will be nothing like the embers designed for our Enemy and his minions.
The passage in Genesis 22 says that Abraham took the ram and offered it “in the place of his son.” That is what happened for us as well. God offered His Son, the precious Lamb of God, in place of us. Now that’s something to offer Light into our day. A Light that will follow beside us on the darkest paths.
Think all is lost and life is headed for “hell in a hand-basket?” Keep reading (listening). . .
“Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in the place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh which means “the Lord will provide.”
Our hand-basket may look scratchy and dirty inside, but it is not on a journey to darkness. Rather, it holds a Light personified in the Son of God. Our Savior. Our Brother. Our Husband. Our Lord. Partner. Friend. The One Who longs to sit beside us and speak truth to us—when its dark or not. He brings the Light.
Chapter One: Where Am I?
After years of emotional disconnection, my husband finally said, “I quit.” He desired only the status quo, and he would stay only if we were roommates. His declaration was the last nail in what felt like my personal coffin. So, I went to the mountains.
The breeze was especially chilly when I reached the summit. At the top, a large prayer labyrinth laid out with stones clung to the hillside. I had hiked for two hours as I followed a prayer trail and pled with God to speak. I was broken.
In my mind, I had decided to leave him after 27 years of marriage, but it seemed only right to give God a chance to bless my decision. Tough choices aren’t so simple. I ached for an emotional connection with my husband yet dreamed of the day I would leave. As I stepped into the rock maze, I groaned aloud, “God, I need to know what to do.” Within minutes, I heard, “Don’t leave him.”
My stubborn response spewed from somewhere deep inside, “Then You will have to show me how to live each day. I’m dead. I’m desperate. And I refuse to continue like this.”
Each slow and numb step carried me closer to the center of the labyrinth. At one point, I stopped and listened. The wind blew, a hummingbird whirred past, and I could feel hot tears in my eyes. That moment is when God spoke again. “I’ll roll the stone away for you every morning.” Jesus experienced betrayal, psychological and physical pain, and even death. Then, an angel rolled the stone away. I knew what He meant, but how hard it was to embrace His words.
I was dead. Emotionally. Spiritually. Psychologically. In some ways, it felt like physical death as well. Do you remember when you were dating? That handsome man knew your birth date and enjoyed conversation late into the night. Now, he is your husband, and he might not even know you are home. He doesn’t seem aware of the times you hurt and need a shoulder to cry on. We walk in similar shoes, you and I.
Your situation may be more volatile. There’s no emotional connection, but verbal explosions are common and come from out of nowhere. A stoic mountain one minute erupts into a volcano seconds later. These men are physically present but emotionally absent. They don’t seem to understand how their reactivity or lack of words are like missiles into our hearts.
So what do we do? We may feel we don’t have biblical grounds for divorce, but the vow feels broken. We used to find hope and wrap ourselves in it like a comfortable blanket. Hope was oxygen and energy to step into the day.
A few years later, it disintegrated, and we cried hushed tears as we lay in bed, back to back, with our mates. More time passed, and now we wonder who we are.
We feel like little robots that rise and attempt to fill our moments until it’s time to rise again. In a sense, we dress ourselves in grave clothes each day, retreat to our tombs, and wait for our lives to end or our fantasies to be realized.
Wrapped in my pajamas, I used to feel that morning was a time to rise from the dead and put on a show to face another day. Do you connect here? We have waited and longed to hear words of affirmation and validation from the ones we believe God gave us as partners for life.
In reality, you hear about the weather and another day at his work. Maybe you receive harsh reactions because you asked him how his day went, but these harmful interactions do not negate the truth. You were made for connection. You were made for more.
Spoiler Alert: At the end of Ezekiel’s story regarding the valley of Dry Bones, God says He will settle the people of Israel in their own place. After a time of adversity, captivity, and slavery, God will relocate them to a place they will settle into and call their own.
One day, they will know the experience of home. A welcome home party complete with validation and celebration is also our promise. Our hope. We will no longer ask the hard questions. Should I leave him or stay? Will I ever truly live again? Does he even see me? Know me? Who am I? I seem to have forgotten, or maybe I never knew.
My first challenge is to reframe all these questions and consider a different one. Where Am I?
Lost? Dead? Drowning in fear or loneliness? How about randomly tossed out among the other dried bones in the valley where Ezekiel prophesied?
Let’s take a look.
The Lord took hold of me [Ezekiel], and I was carried away by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley filled with bones. He led me all around among the bones that covered the valley floor. They were scattered everywhere across the ground and were completely dried out (Ezekiel 37:1-2).
Stand with me and notice. Where are you?
The valley is a divot in the plain all around us. There is life in the far hills and trees. Homes are in the distance, and even farther away are towns and cities. But we are not there. Isolated below the grasslands and away from distant shepherds are bones. They are not whole skeletons but pieces of bone strewn over the acres around us. Dried and sunburned, they are lifeless.
The years of harsh weather have deteriorated what was once alive. Animals have scavenged and scattered the remains. Now, there is a valley of dry bones, lost and forgotten. This is where we have come to live.
Years of bitter disconnection have marred what was alive in us. Our desires have risen and fallen so often that we are afraid to hope. Those around us say, “He’s such a good man. I wish our relationship was like yours.” And we smile. We nod. Somewhere inside we grieve some more until we bury the grief and lay down in a shroud of resignation.
One woman I spoke with several years ago described the years as glass removed from the windows of her life that were eventually replaced with plywood. She used to look out with expectation and life as a woman, vibrant and whole.
I gave my heart to my husband every day. He would come home from work, and during dinner, I would ask how the day went. ‘Fine,’ he’d say. I shared my day with all its emotion and adventure, and he just sat there. Then, he got up and went to the workshop for the rest of the evening. Not one word from him. Alone, I cleaned the kitchen and played Candy Land with the kids.
Resignation is a place of death. Maybe the final breath has not been taken, but it is close. When we resign to something, we give in and give up. Usually, it is attached to a difficult situation that feels hopeless so we throw our hands up and say, “Why even try?”
Resignation changes us as it takes away our energy, hope, and ability to see ourselves and our present circumstances. Associated with resignation are two diagnoses related to living with our husbands: Ongoing Traumatic Relationship Syndrome (OTRS) and Cassandra Syndrome.
Ongoing Traumatic Relationship Syndrome (OTRS)
The basis of OTRS is one with which we are probably familiar. We become like what or who we hang out with. When we live with daily trauma, we tend to wilt and disconnect. We become like the one with whom we live.
We withdraw and unplug from our energy sources. Speak in hurtful, direct terms or not much at all. We begin to behave like him, or we become codependent and enable him to remain disconnected and treat us without the respect due to anyone created in the image of God.
Our compassion becomes dry, and drought consumes what was once a deep well of life. Here is a list of common OTRS symptoms. Can you see yourself in any of them?
Physical Symptoms
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:7-9, NIV).
We do not have to live in a marriage that is hard-pressed, perplexed, persecuted, or struck down. We are called to thrive. We are not crushed, not in despair, not abandoned, not destroyed. We are women of hope.
Cassandra Syndrome
Greek mythology holds a story that now serves as a metaphor for another label attached to those married to emotionally disconnected spouses—Cassandra Syndrome. Cassandra was a princess, the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy.
As one version of the story goes, Apollo fell in love with Cassandra and gave her the gift of seeing the future in exchange for her commitment to marriage. She agreed but later changed her mind and left him. Apollo could not rescind the gift, so he added a curse. His beautiful Cassandra would continue to see the future, but no one would believe her for the rest of her life.
Cassandra Syndrome describes how other people seem to see disconnected spouses as wonderful men. And they are. They are loyal, faithful, hardworking men, and our friends love our husbands’ gifts of time and talent. If we describe our husbands as harsh, unloving, neglectful, or distant, others are unable to believe us, much like Cassandra predicting the future. She knew the Trojan horse would be the downfall of Troy, but those in the city mocked her.
We reach out for help, but platitudes and dismissals are what we receive. No compassion. No resources. Eventually, no hope.
One beautiful thing about Cassandra was that she didn’t give up. Through all the tragedies of her life, even in seasons of despair, she continued to seek peace and thrive despite the curse placed upon her. When devastated beyond reason, Cassandra chose to see the valley and dry bones before her. She decided not to allow the curse to lead to her silence or an inner sense of death.
Can you relate? God has brought us to this place so we can look around and know that He sees where we are. He looks at us not with shame but with deep love and a desire for us to rise and live.
He calls us to recognize how destitute we have become. Like the one sheep out of 99 that found itself lost and in danger, He seeks us.
Our Good Shepherd comes and offers to give us life again, roll the stone away, and carry us out of the grave if we let Him. In His compassionate and fierce nurture, we are seen, wanted, and secure.
His care looks unusual at first. He walks us to the edge of nothingness and then through what seems to be chaos and disaster. He doesn’t, however, leave us there alone. He stands beside us with an invitation.
Yes, all the pieces of our story are scattered about, but what if we take a look? What if we trust that God has goodness ready for us? He does, and He wants us to examine where we are and what we have become so He can make us whole again.Chapter Seven: Unhealthy Relationships
Jesus had spoken to and healed crowds of people all day. He was finished. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. And maybe a bit irritable. When it was time to board the boat with His disciples, He expressed the need to be alone for a while. He told the disciples to cast off and head for the other side of the sea. What did He do? He said farewell to the crowds and found a spot in the hills to sit, pray, rest, sleep, and listen to the Father. Ahh, finally, some human time. Jesus kept to a routine of human time. He rose early in the mornings before all the raucous of life began and headed out to be alone with the Father.
When Lazarus died, Jesus delayed his trip to see the family without an inkling of codependency. When He arrived, He stopped to weep. The shortest verse in the Bible does not mean He shed one tear and moved the story forward. Jesus sobbed and sobbed for His friend. He set boundaries and took time to allow Himself to feel His emotions.
Our Savior, while in human form here on Earth, experienced all the things we go through, but he experienced them without sin. He felt all the feels and hurt when He fell or stubbed His toe. He had a family that drained Him, but one thing He did well: He knew how to balance care for others with care for himself.
Jesus knew the difference between taking care of others all the time to fulfill some inner need for affirmation or to build self-esteem and doing what He was called to do with compassion and mercy. This is the difference between knowing how to follow the Father in healthy relationships and living in the grips of codependency.
CODEPENDENCY
He needs me. I have to be here to help him. After all, it’s not that bad. I can take it. Do you ever find yourself making excuses for him and his behavior? Codependency is a term for unhealthy relationships in which one person, often with low self-esteem, needs to be needed and enables another person’s destructive behavior. Most people have some codependent traits, and others live it without question.
Codependent individuals will make excuses for, protect, endure harsh treatment, and stay in a relationship without setting boundaries for way too long, maybe even a lifetime. Often, this is promulgated in religious groups and churches. Under the guise of submission theology or acting like Christ, women, in particular, are prone to develop codependent traits. The thought is that Christ was meekness and Love, and we should also strive to be that way.
This statement is true. He was meek and loving. Let’s define those two words to gain clarity. Meek is unassuming, but it does not mean we are doormats or that we support unkind behavior. By definition, meek means “quiet, gentle.”
Love is “an intense feeling of deep affection.” On our wedding day, we vowed to be and offer both to our husband, and he vowed to extend this kindness to us as well.
In the real world, meekness and love have to include more than their simplified definition. Remember 1 Corinthians 13? Love is expanded upon and includes significantly more than warm fuzzies. Love is work. So is meekness. To be meek is to choose gentleness in a tornadic world.
Meekness and love include setting boundaries and saying, “No.” If our children are playing in the street, we stop their behavior because we love them too much to see them get hurt. Likewise, if our husbands are verbally demeaning, unkind in any way, or abusive; if they are emotionally neglectful; or if they refuse to work on themselves or the relationship, then to love them well means we set boundaries and communicate our needs. We do not support and encourage bad behaviors.
Use Your Voice
Boundaries require that we have a voice and use it. What does it mean to have a voice? Of course, most of us can speak, but many have learned through a variety of ways to tamp down the use of their voice or silence it altogether.
Before I began to consider my story, the thought of speaking it terrified me. So many times, I wanted to say something to my husband, ask a question, or even start a simple conversation, but I was afraid. He never hit me. He never even threatened to harm me. But the thought of speaking to him how I felt overwhelmed me to the point of silence.
Once, on a trip, I needed to stop to go to the bathroom. My husband usually asks if anyone needs to stop when he passes a rest area, but this time, we were well between those spaces. When we finally got to the nearest rest area, I was in tears and made my way quickly into the facility. I left the kids with my husband, which ticked him off. When I returned, his words were accusatory and short.
“Why’d you run off and leave me with the kids?”
“I had to go to the restroom so bad,” I said.
“Well, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I thought I could wait for the rest area.”
Such a simple thing as voicing my need to pee was unbearable (Eileen).
Fear does not require physical harm, loud words, or even intimidation. Sometimes, it is bred into us from birth. Were you allowed to speak up as a child or express emotion? Was emotion such a reactive part of your daily life that you settled for silence?
So many experiences lead to the loss of our voice. The origins are many, and often, we find it difficult to untangle the sources. Suffice it to say we lose our voice, and codependency grips us. Then, we forget we even need healthy boundaries. Suddenly, the needs of everyone else fill our days and nights, and we begin to believe we are good little Christian women for allowing that.
I remember going on vacations as a child with my mother, father, and sister, who was four years younger than me. Before pulling out of the yard, I would draw an imaginary line down the middle of the back seat. “This is my side, and that is your side. Don’t touch my side!”
The boundary held for about 10 minutes. Soon enough, my sister dared to cross the line. A fight ensued until Mother intervened and declared the seat boundary free. We were to be quiet and keep to ourselves for the rest of the trip. In a sense, mother silenced our voice. We were no longer free to speak our truth or express our emotions concerning the space available in the back seat.
Boundaries
Boundaries, in general, are good. Fences keep what belongs to us in and other things out. They keep the animals in the pasture and, hopefully, predators out. God set boundaries with creation. The seas could only roll in so far. Gravity could only pull us to the earth, not into it. Adam and Eve were given everything except one line was drawn to protect them.
The Lord God placed the man in the Garden of Eden to tend and watch over it. But the Lord God warned him, “You may freely eat the fruit of every tree in the garden — except the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. If you eat its fruit, you are sure to die” (Genesis 2:15-17).
In the New Testament, Jesus set boundaries. When Satan tempted Him, He spoke the truth, confronting the enemy with boundaries. Limits were also set when demons confronted Jesus or were commanded to leave someone. When Peter cut off the guard’s ear, Jesus set a behavioral boundary and healed the man.
Boundaries are needed in relationships to ensure individuality, power, and responsibility.
Individuality
When God created us, He offered uniqueness, connectedness, and gifting. We were shaped with a personality that suits us and fits God’s will for our lives. We are given talents and a purpose that we are expected to pursue and step into.
Marriage doesn’t change our individual relationship with the Father. He calls us to be in a relationship with Him first. We will stand before Him someday and give account as individuals. There will be no But he never let me… I was afraid of… or He made me.
Individually, we are called to accomplish what God desires of us. There will be plenty of grace and forgiveness, but ultimately, we are responsible. Boundaries define us. They define what is me and what is not me. A boundary shows me where I end and someone else begins, leading me to a sense of ownership.
Boundaries are required to establish and express our individuality.
Power
Along with the individuality given to us by our Creator, we were given a measure of power. We can make decisions and act upon them because we were designed with this power. Without power, we are unable to present ourselves as individuals.
As a couple, we give our power to our spouses in many ways. One important way we abandon ship and give him our power is when we blame him for every woe we experience in the marriage. “He’s the problem, and he needs to fix himself” are words that are akin to waving the white flag in surrender. We give him our power by not taking a stand for our needs. In doing so, we invite him to be responsible for our well-being and step away from a team mentality in our relationship. If we do not see our husband as a part of our team, we give up our power.
Boundaries are required to decide upon and express the use of our power.
Personal Responsibility
As individuals with power, we have some responsibilities. We are responsible for our thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and beliefs. We are NOT responsible for the thoughts, feelings, behaviors, or beliefs of others.
When we try to be, we are squarely in the category of control and codependence. This premise can be hard to understand and even harder to put into practice. We like to control the individuality of others and make them fit what we expect of them.
Boundaries help us remain in our individuality and take personal responsibility for ourselves.
How We Do Boundaries
Without expressions of emotional reactivity, we set boundaries after prayer and connection with Jesus. When we set boundaries out of a posture of anger or frustration, they typically aren’t received very well and are drawn in the wrong place at the wrong time.
What if we calmed ourselves and invited Jesus to speak to us about where He thinks our boundaries are to be set? What if we sat still outside on the hill, by the beach, on the sand with our toes in the sea, or amongst the trees? Then we could breathe and take a deep drink of crisp, cool water, throw back our heads, and notice we could smile. Another breath, in and out, and there He is—Jesus.
Let’s explain to Him what triggers we’re wrestling with and the emotions that threaten to keep us silent or explode with words of harm. He’s right here, even if we’re sitting in our bedrooms or huddled in the corner of the bathroom. Let’s release the pain to Him, come to Him naked and vulnerable, and ask Him to show us where to draw the lines.
At the right time, we can set our boundaries. Is your husband yelling at you? Does he toss harsh names at you? That’s the exact time to gently raise your hand and say, “Stop speaking to me in that manner. If you continue, I will leave for an hour and then come back.” This sets the boundary and reassures him you are not intending to abandon him. If the next word from his mouth is not softer and kinder, remind him you will be back in an hour. And leave.
Because you could be in your emotional brain, complete with the fight, flight, or freeze response, use the hour to do something to bring your thinking brain back online. For example, you could take a walk, drive, listen to music, do some laundry, work on a hobby, or get some coffee. Whatever is needed, lean into it and care well for yourself before returning.
Does he walk away without acknowledging you asked a question or made a comment? Gain his attention and quietly say, “I asked a question (or spoke to you). I would appreciate a response. If you need time to process what I asked, then say so.” Wait for his answer. If he walks away again, remember you cannot change or force him to respond. What you can do is remember that you are not responsible for his behaviors. This is not about you. Connect with Jesus.
No, Really. Connect With Jesus
This sounds like such a cliche. “Turn to Jesus. Jesus will help you. He will take care of everything.” These statements are true—to a point. Our Savior helps us and answers our prayers but not always in the way we want or expect.
The Bible describes God as our tower of strength and our refuge. Both are places to which we can run. When we can’t deal with the disconnect, meltdowns, or loneliness any longer, we can avoid vulnerability, tighten up on our fix-him mode, and attempt to control the situation, or we can admit we are helpless and run to our tower, our refuge.
When we step out toward God in naked vulnerability, He lowers the drawbridge over the moat. The refuge doors swing open. We are welcome.
At the end of the day, we remain in the refuge or tower while returning to our home. A couple I recently worked with said, “At the end of the day, it still hurts.” I had to agree with them. Jesus’ offer is one of peace and rest but not always one of resolution. At the end of the day, when pain is still present, we move toward our grief.Chapter Twelve: Search Your Stories
The Chestatee River is a 34-mile river in northern Georgia that flows out of the Appalachian Mountains and skirts just south of Dahlonega, Georgia. My father found this river somehow when we were kids, although we grew up in Southeast Tennessee. Each Saturday during the summer, Dad woke me up early, threw some leftover biscuits into the truck, and we would head for the river. All day long, Dad would squat at the edge of the river and pan for gold. His search was diligent but contented rather than greedy.
He’d shovel small amounts of sand, rock, and dirt into a shallow pan. Then he’d patiently shake it until the gold settled to the bottom, and the excess ingredients were wiped away. More pans than not held no gold, but Dad was persistent.
Me? I played in the sand and water, built cities from rocks and twigs, and enjoyed being a kid spending the day with her dad. We’d take a lunch break and drive to the general store where Dad bought two cans of potted meat and a pack of Doritos. Then, it was back to the river to continue his search for flakes and tiny nuggets of gold. He sought peace more than the gold.
Dad taught me a lot about searching for things. My love for seeking out the hidden grew strong, and to this day, I love to research, look for, and learn more about anything. From those years on the river and some life experiences of my own, I learned that searching for the truth requires an open mind, honesty with oneself, and persistence. I’ve learned that it is in seeking the truth that we find freedom.
But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well (Matthew 6:33, NIV).
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened (Matthew 7:7-8, NIV).
What’s the purpose of seeking? Of searching our stories? When we begin to learn what has hurt us and what brings us joy, we are better able to dance in the moment. We become aware of what triggers our defensive system so we can choose to walk away rather than respond with hurtful words and behaviors.
Some years ago, Eileen was a client of mine. She had done a beautiful job of learning to speak her stories. Grief work was well underway, but when the topic of searching her stories came up, she expressed a sense of trepidation.
In speaking my stories, I’ve learned to be honest with myself and others, including my husband. My boundaries are firmer, and I can see much clearer now. Why should I open up my bag of emotions and look for a damage report? Why search my stories when my needs are not being met, and I want to leave?
In her response to searching out her story, Eileen makes many good points. At first glance, it would certainly be easier to quit and leave. She has done good work learning to speak her stories, but if we merely speak our stories, we can become hardened and make faulty decisions. We need to talk back to our stories, research them, and listen closely to what they have to say.
In terms of Ezekiel, we bend over, pick up each separate bone, and study it for clues as to how it became dry and scattered. Without a comprehensive search of our stories, we face the certainty that we will make the same choices again and end up back in the same place we are now.
Open Minded
One of my favorite television shows was one called “Bones.” A team of genius scientists partner with the FBI to solve murder cases. A dead body would be found, brought to the lab, and studied in minute detail.
One rule held by the lead anthropologist was that guesses were not allowed. There had to be evidence to support a conclusion. As she promoted following the details, she also expressed compassion and eventually learned that good scientists can also keep an open mind. This was not innate to her. She had to learn to open her mind and respond accordingly.
A heart of open-mindedness is needed to search through our stories. How do we accomplish a primarily cognitive task with heart? We let the truth lead us wherever it wants to take us. When the heart is added to the search of our stories, we gain several advantages.
We Lay Down Our Faulty Conclusions
My grandmother had a basket of what she called notions. A basket of this and that rested by her rocking chair, and anything that was needed could be found in this basket. I have a notions drawer in the kitchen. The last time I opened it, I found clothes pins, scissors, an old wind chime, markers and pens, shoe glue, and rubber bands. I haven’t used many of these items in years and probably will never use them again. They are like the notions we create in our heads about our husbands. They take up quality space and don’t allow for the placement of positive things.
We all tend to harbor a notions drawer in our mind about various people, places, and things. If we’re not careful, they multiply until our drawer is full of hardened conclusions. For example, I grew up with a mother who canned fresh veggies from the garden. Each year, she added to the boxes of canned green beans. There’s nothing better than a quart of home-cooked green beans come wintertime. I watched every year as Mother would take a quart of beans, open it, dump out the water, rinse the beans, and cook them until tender. One evening, after I was married, I started to cook dinner. My husband wanted to know why I dumped out the water from the canned green beans.
In a fluster, I concluded that it was necessary and very important. Actually, it’s neither necessary nor important. Rinsing the beans had become a hardened notion in my mind. Likewise, we tend to build up beliefs about our spouse that harden into what we, at some point, conclude is a fact. In actuality, these beliefs-turned-facts are no more than unsubstantiated assumptions.
Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it (Matthew 16:24-25).
Now, I want to be clear here. I am not saying you must stay with an emotionally disconnected man, nor am I saying you must go. To search our stories is to search ourselves. When we clean out the notions drawer, so much pure and clean space is left to fill with truth. This is the time to look for hardened notions and lay them at the foot of the cross.
The ground is level and clear beneath the cross. We can begin to see the blood of Christ that covers and cleans us. Vulnerability and tenderness arise, both of which may result in our seeing our husbands in a slightly different way.
As I search my stories, I have rooted out some notions that were simple but hard as boulders. Whenever I would go on a trip, my husband would say nothing about missing me. Rather, he would enter the house and say, “I put a hammer under the driver’s seat of the car.”
For years, I felt he didn’t care about me or wouldn’t miss me. Now, I understand he shows his care very practically—the hammer is for practical problems that may arise and for my safety.
When Christmas rolled around, he either got me nothing or told me to buy something for myself. He never asked to drive me around and see the pretty lights, take me to dinner, or initiate the reading of the Christmas story. My notion was that he didn’t love me or the kids and certainly could not love Jesus. Now I realize he loves all of us dearly. He doesn’t know how, or never learned how, to show it.
Does understanding and the removal of hardened notions make everything okay? No. Does it remove the current hurt or past years of pain? No. But it does allow me to choose to love my husband as God does or continue to let contempt grow.
Another aspect of searching our stories involves unveiling triggers in our own lives. Similar to hardened notions, triggers build up over many years of story. As children, we are all hurt in various ways. Over time, the hurts may or may not be a result of harsh abuse, but they do form in each of us. They result in wounds attached to negative lies about ourselves, God, those around us, or the world in general.
As adults, these invisible wounds can take us back to the original childhood pain when bumped up against or triggered. When triggered, we are often unaware of the original wounding and blame our spouse for the pain of the whole wound.
When I was a child, my opinion and emotions didn’t matter. If I cried, the response was, “Stop that, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” I was automatically expected to know how to do anything requested. If I asked a question I was belittled or yelled at. Asking a simple question could result in punishment. That stuck with me, and I refuse to ask for help or how to do something to this day. On the rare occasion when I do ask my husband something, he is usually okay with answering unless it involves the emotions of anyone. Then, he might mumble and leave.
When he ignores my question and leaves, my brain’s danger system jumps into high gear, and I resort to attack mode. I have been triggered. His response is a small piece of my lifelong wounding, but he receives the brunt of my childhood hurts. I’m not a yeller, so my response may be not to speak to him for a day or two, clean the house, or, on rare occasions, I have been known to explode on him.
Triggers reflect wounds that help us better understand ourselves. The more we know about what triggers us, the better we can respond. Being aware of our triggers is part of exploring our stories. How can we achieve this? The next time you feel yourself emotionally escalating, pause and ask, What am I feeling? Really put some time and prayer into this.
Pull out a feelings wheel or chart if necessary. After identifying what you are feeling, ask yourself, When have I felt this way before? Trace the feeling as far back as you can to the sources of your wounding. This method is a simplistic process of self-awareness but profitable if done over time. Also, tracing the wound back in time with a counselor or godly friend may hasten a more peaceful and positive outcome.
Compassion
While in the valley of dry bones searching for triggers and parts of our skeletons, we may run across parts that hold the harm and trauma our husband has experienced. As we search and pray over his bones, empathy arises and is followed by compassion unless we are committed to close-minded bitterness. Whereas empathy is restricted to feeling, compassion holds not only feeling but carries with it a desire to alleviate the suffering of another. This need is vulnerable, deep-hearted, and benevolent, a characteristic of being a part of humanity.
Compassion in no way excuses abuse, whether physical, psychological, or verbal. For now, bask in the understanding that we all have stories, and God is at work in every one of them. We can choose to model the active compassion and love that God expresses to us.
The man answered, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’’’ (Luke 10:27).
If anyone should count as our neighbor, surely it would be our spouse. When we search our stories and allow compassion to flow for our hurt, then wouldn’t the offer stand for the hurts of our husband as well?
Learn New Things
As we study each bone of our story thoroughly, we learn new ideas about ourselves. In my search over the years (yes, years), I have come to a better understanding of myself. My attachment style tends to favor avoidance. My personality is a solid four on the Enneagram; I’m a Lion and an INFJ, depending on which assessment method is used. I’m creative, imaginative, full of ADHD, and love change.
In my search, I also discovered that my husband has a solid avoidant attachment style. He is rigid and logical, refuses change, and is happy being alone. Wow! What did God do there?
Over the past couple of years, I have come to describe myself as a hot air balloon that floats on every whim or idea that arises, which are many. My husband is the anchor or tether that keeps me securely attached to the earth and home. Notice I did not say he grounds my flights. That is a boundary set firm and lovingly between us. We’ve learned that his desire for alone time and my desire for constant flight are quite compatible. Perspective is everything.
We have spoken our stories and searched them with success. Now, it’s time to decide what to do with them. The choice is ours, and it’s a daily choice.
Some days, we must make the decision multiple times, but if we are diligent, the breath of all four winds will blow into us, filling our lungs with power-giving energy and hope to rise up whole.
After years of emotional disconnection, my husband finally said, “I quit.” He desired only the status quo, and he would stay only if we were roommates. His declaration was the last nail in what felt like my personal coffin. So, I went to the mountains.
The breeze was especially chilly when I reached the summit. At the top, a large prayer labyrinth laid out with stones clung to the hillside. I had hiked for two hours as I followed a prayer trail and pled with God to speak. I was broken.
In my mind, I had decided to leave him after 27 years of marriage, but it seemed only right to give God a chance to bless my decision. Tough choices aren’t so simple. I ached for an emotional connection with my husband yet dreamed of the day I would leave. As I stepped into the rock maze, I groaned aloud, “God, I need to know what to do.” Within minutes, I heard, “Don’t leave him.”
My stubborn response spewed from somewhere deep inside, “Then You will have to show me how to live each day. I’m dead. I’m desperate. And I refuse to continue like this.”
Each slow and numb step carried me closer to the center of the labyrinth. At one point, I stopped and listened. The wind blew, a hummingbird whirred past, and I could feel hot tears in my eyes. That moment is when God spoke again. “I’ll roll the stone away for you every morning.” Jesus experienced betrayal, psychological and physical pain, and even death. Then, an angel rolled the stone away. I knew what He meant, but how hard it was to embrace His words.
I was dead. Emotionally. Spiritually. Psychologically. In some ways, it felt like physical death as well. Do you remember when you were dating? That handsome man knew your birth date and enjoyed conversation late into the night. Now, he is your husband, and he might not even know you are home. He doesn’t seem aware of the times you hurt and need a shoulder to cry on. We walk in similar shoes, you and I.
Your situation may be more volatile. There’s no emotional connection, but verbal explosions are common and come from out of nowhere. A stoic mountain one minute erupts into a volcano seconds later. These men are physically present but emotionally absent. They don’t seem to understand how their reactivity or lack of words are like missiles into our hearts.
So what do we do? We may feel we don’t have biblical grounds for divorce, but the vow feels broken. We used to find hope and wrap ourselves in it like a comfortable blanket. Hope was oxygen and energy to step into the day.
A few years later, it disintegrated, and we cried hushed tears as we lay in bed, back to back, with our mates. More time passed, and now we wonder who we are.
We feel like little robots that rise and attempt to fill our moments until it’s time to rise again. In a sense, we dress ourselves in grave clothes each day, retreat to our tombs, and wait for our lives to end or our fantasies to be realized.
Wrapped in my pajamas, I used to feel that morning was a time to rise from the dead and put on a show to face another day. Do you connect here? We have waited and longed to hear words of affirmation and validation from the ones we believe God gave us as partners for life.
In reality, you hear about the weather and another day at his work. Maybe you receive harsh reactions because you asked him how his day went, but these harmful interactions do not negate the truth. You were made for connection. You were made for more.
Spoiler Alert: At the end of Ezekiel’s story regarding the valley of Dry Bones, God says He will settle the people of Israel in their own place. After a time of adversity, captivity, and slavery, God will relocate them to a place they will settle into and call their own.
One day, they will know the experience of home. A welcome home party complete with validation and celebration is also our promise. Our hope. We will no longer ask the hard questions. Should I leave him or stay? Will I ever truly live again? Does he even see me? Know me? Who am I? I seem to have forgotten, or maybe I never knew.
My first challenge is to reframe all these questions and consider a different one. Where Am I?
Lost? Dead? Drowning in fear or loneliness? How about randomly tossed out among the other dried bones in the valley where Ezekiel prophesied?
Let’s take a look.
The Lord took hold of me [Ezekiel], and I was carried away by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley filled with bones. He led me all around among the bones that covered the valley floor. They were scattered everywhere across the ground and were completely dried out (Ezekiel 37:1-2).
Stand with me and notice. Where are you?
The valley is a divot in the plain all around us. There is life in the far hills and trees. Homes are in the distance, and even farther away are towns and cities. But we are not there. Isolated below the grasslands and away from distant shepherds are bones. They are not whole skeletons but pieces of bone strewn over the acres around us. Dried and sunburned, they are lifeless.
The years of harsh weather have deteriorated what was once alive. Animals have scavenged and scattered the remains. Now, there is a valley of dry bones, lost and forgotten. This is where we have come to live.
Years of bitter disconnection have marred what was alive in us. Our desires have risen and fallen so often that we are afraid to hope. Those around us say, “He’s such a good man. I wish our relationship was like yours.” And we smile. We nod. Somewhere inside we grieve some more until we bury the grief and lay down in a shroud of resignation.
One woman I spoke with several years ago described the years as glass removed from the windows of her life that were eventually replaced with plywood. She used to look out with expectation and life as a woman, vibrant and whole.
I gave my heart to my husband every day. He would come home from work, and during dinner, I would ask how the day went. ‘Fine,’ he’d say. I shared my day with all its emotion and adventure, and he just sat there. Then, he got up and went to the workshop for the rest of the evening. Not one word from him. Alone, I cleaned the kitchen and played Candy Land with the kids.
Resignation is a place of death. Maybe the final breath has not been taken, but it is close. When we resign to something, we give in and give up. Usually, it is attached to a difficult situation that feels hopeless so we throw our hands up and say, “Why even try?”
Resignation changes us as it takes away our energy, hope, and ability to see ourselves and our present circumstances. Associated with resignation are two diagnoses related to living with our husbands: Ongoing Traumatic Relationship Syndrome (OTRS) and Cassandra Syndrome.
Ongoing Traumatic Relationship Syndrome (OTRS)
The basis of OTRS is one with which we are probably familiar. We become like what or who we hang out with. When we live with daily trauma, we tend to wilt and disconnect. We become like the one with whom we live.
We withdraw and unplug from our energy sources. Speak in hurtful, direct terms or not much at all. We begin to behave like him, or we become codependent and enable him to remain disconnected and treat us without the respect due to anyone created in the image of God.
Our compassion becomes dry, and drought consumes what was once a deep well of life. Here is a list of common OTRS symptoms. Can you see yourself in any of them?
Physical Symptoms
- Headaches
- Fatigue
- Eating and Weight Changes
- Sore/Stiff Muscles and Joints
- Insomnia
- Reduced Immunity
- Low self-esteem/worth
- Depression/Anxiety
- Anger
- Loneliness
- Confusion
- Social Phobias
- Guilt/Shame
- Dissociation/Addictions
- I don’t matter.
- My needs aren’t met.
- I’m invisible to him.
- I’m no more than a parent/caregiver.
- I run damage control due to his behaviors.
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:7-9, NIV).
We do not have to live in a marriage that is hard-pressed, perplexed, persecuted, or struck down. We are called to thrive. We are not crushed, not in despair, not abandoned, not destroyed. We are women of hope.
Cassandra Syndrome
Greek mythology holds a story that now serves as a metaphor for another label attached to those married to emotionally disconnected spouses—Cassandra Syndrome. Cassandra was a princess, the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy.
As one version of the story goes, Apollo fell in love with Cassandra and gave her the gift of seeing the future in exchange for her commitment to marriage. She agreed but later changed her mind and left him. Apollo could not rescind the gift, so he added a curse. His beautiful Cassandra would continue to see the future, but no one would believe her for the rest of her life.
Cassandra Syndrome describes how other people seem to see disconnected spouses as wonderful men. And they are. They are loyal, faithful, hardworking men, and our friends love our husbands’ gifts of time and talent. If we describe our husbands as harsh, unloving, neglectful, or distant, others are unable to believe us, much like Cassandra predicting the future. She knew the Trojan horse would be the downfall of Troy, but those in the city mocked her.
We reach out for help, but platitudes and dismissals are what we receive. No compassion. No resources. Eventually, no hope.
One beautiful thing about Cassandra was that she didn’t give up. Through all the tragedies of her life, even in seasons of despair, she continued to seek peace and thrive despite the curse placed upon her. When devastated beyond reason, Cassandra chose to see the valley and dry bones before her. She decided not to allow the curse to lead to her silence or an inner sense of death.
Can you relate? God has brought us to this place so we can look around and know that He sees where we are. He looks at us not with shame but with deep love and a desire for us to rise and live.
He calls us to recognize how destitute we have become. Like the one sheep out of 99 that found itself lost and in danger, He seeks us.
Our Good Shepherd comes and offers to give us life again, roll the stone away, and carry us out of the grave if we let Him. In His compassionate and fierce nurture, we are seen, wanted, and secure.
His care looks unusual at first. He walks us to the edge of nothingness and then through what seems to be chaos and disaster. He doesn’t, however, leave us there alone. He stands beside us with an invitation.
Yes, all the pieces of our story are scattered about, but what if we take a look? What if we trust that God has goodness ready for us? He does, and He wants us to examine where we are and what we have become so He can make us whole again.Chapter Seven: Unhealthy Relationships
Jesus had spoken to and healed crowds of people all day. He was finished. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. And maybe a bit irritable. When it was time to board the boat with His disciples, He expressed the need to be alone for a while. He told the disciples to cast off and head for the other side of the sea. What did He do? He said farewell to the crowds and found a spot in the hills to sit, pray, rest, sleep, and listen to the Father. Ahh, finally, some human time. Jesus kept to a routine of human time. He rose early in the mornings before all the raucous of life began and headed out to be alone with the Father.
When Lazarus died, Jesus delayed his trip to see the family without an inkling of codependency. When He arrived, He stopped to weep. The shortest verse in the Bible does not mean He shed one tear and moved the story forward. Jesus sobbed and sobbed for His friend. He set boundaries and took time to allow Himself to feel His emotions.
Our Savior, while in human form here on Earth, experienced all the things we go through, but he experienced them without sin. He felt all the feels and hurt when He fell or stubbed His toe. He had a family that drained Him, but one thing He did well: He knew how to balance care for others with care for himself.
Jesus knew the difference between taking care of others all the time to fulfill some inner need for affirmation or to build self-esteem and doing what He was called to do with compassion and mercy. This is the difference between knowing how to follow the Father in healthy relationships and living in the grips of codependency.
CODEPENDENCY
He needs me. I have to be here to help him. After all, it’s not that bad. I can take it. Do you ever find yourself making excuses for him and his behavior? Codependency is a term for unhealthy relationships in which one person, often with low self-esteem, needs to be needed and enables another person’s destructive behavior. Most people have some codependent traits, and others live it without question.
Codependent individuals will make excuses for, protect, endure harsh treatment, and stay in a relationship without setting boundaries for way too long, maybe even a lifetime. Often, this is promulgated in religious groups and churches. Under the guise of submission theology or acting like Christ, women, in particular, are prone to develop codependent traits. The thought is that Christ was meekness and Love, and we should also strive to be that way.
This statement is true. He was meek and loving. Let’s define those two words to gain clarity. Meek is unassuming, but it does not mean we are doormats or that we support unkind behavior. By definition, meek means “quiet, gentle.”
Love is “an intense feeling of deep affection.” On our wedding day, we vowed to be and offer both to our husband, and he vowed to extend this kindness to us as well.
In the real world, meekness and love have to include more than their simplified definition. Remember 1 Corinthians 13? Love is expanded upon and includes significantly more than warm fuzzies. Love is work. So is meekness. To be meek is to choose gentleness in a tornadic world.
Meekness and love include setting boundaries and saying, “No.” If our children are playing in the street, we stop their behavior because we love them too much to see them get hurt. Likewise, if our husbands are verbally demeaning, unkind in any way, or abusive; if they are emotionally neglectful; or if they refuse to work on themselves or the relationship, then to love them well means we set boundaries and communicate our needs. We do not support and encourage bad behaviors.
Use Your Voice
Boundaries require that we have a voice and use it. What does it mean to have a voice? Of course, most of us can speak, but many have learned through a variety of ways to tamp down the use of their voice or silence it altogether.
Before I began to consider my story, the thought of speaking it terrified me. So many times, I wanted to say something to my husband, ask a question, or even start a simple conversation, but I was afraid. He never hit me. He never even threatened to harm me. But the thought of speaking to him how I felt overwhelmed me to the point of silence.
Once, on a trip, I needed to stop to go to the bathroom. My husband usually asks if anyone needs to stop when he passes a rest area, but this time, we were well between those spaces. When we finally got to the nearest rest area, I was in tears and made my way quickly into the facility. I left the kids with my husband, which ticked him off. When I returned, his words were accusatory and short.
“Why’d you run off and leave me with the kids?”
“I had to go to the restroom so bad,” I said.
“Well, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I thought I could wait for the rest area.”
Such a simple thing as voicing my need to pee was unbearable (Eileen).
Fear does not require physical harm, loud words, or even intimidation. Sometimes, it is bred into us from birth. Were you allowed to speak up as a child or express emotion? Was emotion such a reactive part of your daily life that you settled for silence?
So many experiences lead to the loss of our voice. The origins are many, and often, we find it difficult to untangle the sources. Suffice it to say we lose our voice, and codependency grips us. Then, we forget we even need healthy boundaries. Suddenly, the needs of everyone else fill our days and nights, and we begin to believe we are good little Christian women for allowing that.
I remember going on vacations as a child with my mother, father, and sister, who was four years younger than me. Before pulling out of the yard, I would draw an imaginary line down the middle of the back seat. “This is my side, and that is your side. Don’t touch my side!”
The boundary held for about 10 minutes. Soon enough, my sister dared to cross the line. A fight ensued until Mother intervened and declared the seat boundary free. We were to be quiet and keep to ourselves for the rest of the trip. In a sense, mother silenced our voice. We were no longer free to speak our truth or express our emotions concerning the space available in the back seat.
Boundaries
Boundaries, in general, are good. Fences keep what belongs to us in and other things out. They keep the animals in the pasture and, hopefully, predators out. God set boundaries with creation. The seas could only roll in so far. Gravity could only pull us to the earth, not into it. Adam and Eve were given everything except one line was drawn to protect them.
The Lord God placed the man in the Garden of Eden to tend and watch over it. But the Lord God warned him, “You may freely eat the fruit of every tree in the garden — except the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. If you eat its fruit, you are sure to die” (Genesis 2:15-17).
In the New Testament, Jesus set boundaries. When Satan tempted Him, He spoke the truth, confronting the enemy with boundaries. Limits were also set when demons confronted Jesus or were commanded to leave someone. When Peter cut off the guard’s ear, Jesus set a behavioral boundary and healed the man.
Boundaries are needed in relationships to ensure individuality, power, and responsibility.
Individuality
When God created us, He offered uniqueness, connectedness, and gifting. We were shaped with a personality that suits us and fits God’s will for our lives. We are given talents and a purpose that we are expected to pursue and step into.
Marriage doesn’t change our individual relationship with the Father. He calls us to be in a relationship with Him first. We will stand before Him someday and give account as individuals. There will be no But he never let me… I was afraid of… or He made me.
Individually, we are called to accomplish what God desires of us. There will be plenty of grace and forgiveness, but ultimately, we are responsible. Boundaries define us. They define what is me and what is not me. A boundary shows me where I end and someone else begins, leading me to a sense of ownership.
Boundaries are required to establish and express our individuality.
Power
Along with the individuality given to us by our Creator, we were given a measure of power. We can make decisions and act upon them because we were designed with this power. Without power, we are unable to present ourselves as individuals.
As a couple, we give our power to our spouses in many ways. One important way we abandon ship and give him our power is when we blame him for every woe we experience in the marriage. “He’s the problem, and he needs to fix himself” are words that are akin to waving the white flag in surrender. We give him our power by not taking a stand for our needs. In doing so, we invite him to be responsible for our well-being and step away from a team mentality in our relationship. If we do not see our husband as a part of our team, we give up our power.
Boundaries are required to decide upon and express the use of our power.
Personal Responsibility
As individuals with power, we have some responsibilities. We are responsible for our thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and beliefs. We are NOT responsible for the thoughts, feelings, behaviors, or beliefs of others.
When we try to be, we are squarely in the category of control and codependence. This premise can be hard to understand and even harder to put into practice. We like to control the individuality of others and make them fit what we expect of them.
- I think my husband should get involved in church.
- He should initiate communication and take leadership of the home.
- Why doesn’t he play with the kids more?
- He gets upset when I call him for dinner. How lame is that?
Boundaries help us remain in our individuality and take personal responsibility for ourselves.
How We Do Boundaries
Without expressions of emotional reactivity, we set boundaries after prayer and connection with Jesus. When we set boundaries out of a posture of anger or frustration, they typically aren’t received very well and are drawn in the wrong place at the wrong time.
What if we calmed ourselves and invited Jesus to speak to us about where He thinks our boundaries are to be set? What if we sat still outside on the hill, by the beach, on the sand with our toes in the sea, or amongst the trees? Then we could breathe and take a deep drink of crisp, cool water, throw back our heads, and notice we could smile. Another breath, in and out, and there He is—Jesus.
Let’s explain to Him what triggers we’re wrestling with and the emotions that threaten to keep us silent or explode with words of harm. He’s right here, even if we’re sitting in our bedrooms or huddled in the corner of the bathroom. Let’s release the pain to Him, come to Him naked and vulnerable, and ask Him to show us where to draw the lines.
At the right time, we can set our boundaries. Is your husband yelling at you? Does he toss harsh names at you? That’s the exact time to gently raise your hand and say, “Stop speaking to me in that manner. If you continue, I will leave for an hour and then come back.” This sets the boundary and reassures him you are not intending to abandon him. If the next word from his mouth is not softer and kinder, remind him you will be back in an hour. And leave.
Because you could be in your emotional brain, complete with the fight, flight, or freeze response, use the hour to do something to bring your thinking brain back online. For example, you could take a walk, drive, listen to music, do some laundry, work on a hobby, or get some coffee. Whatever is needed, lean into it and care well for yourself before returning.
Does he walk away without acknowledging you asked a question or made a comment? Gain his attention and quietly say, “I asked a question (or spoke to you). I would appreciate a response. If you need time to process what I asked, then say so.” Wait for his answer. If he walks away again, remember you cannot change or force him to respond. What you can do is remember that you are not responsible for his behaviors. This is not about you. Connect with Jesus.
No, Really. Connect With Jesus
This sounds like such a cliche. “Turn to Jesus. Jesus will help you. He will take care of everything.” These statements are true—to a point. Our Savior helps us and answers our prayers but not always in the way we want or expect.
The Bible describes God as our tower of strength and our refuge. Both are places to which we can run. When we can’t deal with the disconnect, meltdowns, or loneliness any longer, we can avoid vulnerability, tighten up on our fix-him mode, and attempt to control the situation, or we can admit we are helpless and run to our tower, our refuge.
When we step out toward God in naked vulnerability, He lowers the drawbridge over the moat. The refuge doors swing open. We are welcome.
At the end of the day, we remain in the refuge or tower while returning to our home. A couple I recently worked with said, “At the end of the day, it still hurts.” I had to agree with them. Jesus’ offer is one of peace and rest but not always one of resolution. At the end of the day, when pain is still present, we move toward our grief.Chapter Twelve: Search Your Stories
The Chestatee River is a 34-mile river in northern Georgia that flows out of the Appalachian Mountains and skirts just south of Dahlonega, Georgia. My father found this river somehow when we were kids, although we grew up in Southeast Tennessee. Each Saturday during the summer, Dad woke me up early, threw some leftover biscuits into the truck, and we would head for the river. All day long, Dad would squat at the edge of the river and pan for gold. His search was diligent but contented rather than greedy.
He’d shovel small amounts of sand, rock, and dirt into a shallow pan. Then he’d patiently shake it until the gold settled to the bottom, and the excess ingredients were wiped away. More pans than not held no gold, but Dad was persistent.
Me? I played in the sand and water, built cities from rocks and twigs, and enjoyed being a kid spending the day with her dad. We’d take a lunch break and drive to the general store where Dad bought two cans of potted meat and a pack of Doritos. Then, it was back to the river to continue his search for flakes and tiny nuggets of gold. He sought peace more than the gold.
Dad taught me a lot about searching for things. My love for seeking out the hidden grew strong, and to this day, I love to research, look for, and learn more about anything. From those years on the river and some life experiences of my own, I learned that searching for the truth requires an open mind, honesty with oneself, and persistence. I’ve learned that it is in seeking the truth that we find freedom.
But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well (Matthew 6:33, NIV).
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened (Matthew 7:7-8, NIV).
What’s the purpose of seeking? Of searching our stories? When we begin to learn what has hurt us and what brings us joy, we are better able to dance in the moment. We become aware of what triggers our defensive system so we can choose to walk away rather than respond with hurtful words and behaviors.
Some years ago, Eileen was a client of mine. She had done a beautiful job of learning to speak her stories. Grief work was well underway, but when the topic of searching her stories came up, she expressed a sense of trepidation.
In speaking my stories, I’ve learned to be honest with myself and others, including my husband. My boundaries are firmer, and I can see much clearer now. Why should I open up my bag of emotions and look for a damage report? Why search my stories when my needs are not being met, and I want to leave?
In her response to searching out her story, Eileen makes many good points. At first glance, it would certainly be easier to quit and leave. She has done good work learning to speak her stories, but if we merely speak our stories, we can become hardened and make faulty decisions. We need to talk back to our stories, research them, and listen closely to what they have to say.
In terms of Ezekiel, we bend over, pick up each separate bone, and study it for clues as to how it became dry and scattered. Without a comprehensive search of our stories, we face the certainty that we will make the same choices again and end up back in the same place we are now.
Open Minded
One of my favorite television shows was one called “Bones.” A team of genius scientists partner with the FBI to solve murder cases. A dead body would be found, brought to the lab, and studied in minute detail.
One rule held by the lead anthropologist was that guesses were not allowed. There had to be evidence to support a conclusion. As she promoted following the details, she also expressed compassion and eventually learned that good scientists can also keep an open mind. This was not innate to her. She had to learn to open her mind and respond accordingly.
A heart of open-mindedness is needed to search through our stories. How do we accomplish a primarily cognitive task with heart? We let the truth lead us wherever it wants to take us. When the heart is added to the search of our stories, we gain several advantages.
We Lay Down Our Faulty Conclusions
My grandmother had a basket of what she called notions. A basket of this and that rested by her rocking chair, and anything that was needed could be found in this basket. I have a notions drawer in the kitchen. The last time I opened it, I found clothes pins, scissors, an old wind chime, markers and pens, shoe glue, and rubber bands. I haven’t used many of these items in years and probably will never use them again. They are like the notions we create in our heads about our husbands. They take up quality space and don’t allow for the placement of positive things.
We all tend to harbor a notions drawer in our mind about various people, places, and things. If we’re not careful, they multiply until our drawer is full of hardened conclusions. For example, I grew up with a mother who canned fresh veggies from the garden. Each year, she added to the boxes of canned green beans. There’s nothing better than a quart of home-cooked green beans come wintertime. I watched every year as Mother would take a quart of beans, open it, dump out the water, rinse the beans, and cook them until tender. One evening, after I was married, I started to cook dinner. My husband wanted to know why I dumped out the water from the canned green beans.
In a fluster, I concluded that it was necessary and very important. Actually, it’s neither necessary nor important. Rinsing the beans had become a hardened notion in my mind. Likewise, we tend to build up beliefs about our spouse that harden into what we, at some point, conclude is a fact. In actuality, these beliefs-turned-facts are no more than unsubstantiated assumptions.
- He’s like this because he wants to be.
- He ignores me because he doesn’t care.
- He yells because he has a temper problem.
- He’d rather be with his tools and paint in the garage than go out with me.
- He doesn’t love the kids.
- He doesn’t love me.
- What am I assuming about this notion?
- Am I forcing him to fit into my expectations?
- When did I first start considering this notion?
- When did the notion become hardened?
- What triggers this notion to turn into emotional reactivity?
Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it (Matthew 16:24-25).
Now, I want to be clear here. I am not saying you must stay with an emotionally disconnected man, nor am I saying you must go. To search our stories is to search ourselves. When we clean out the notions drawer, so much pure and clean space is left to fill with truth. This is the time to look for hardened notions and lay them at the foot of the cross.
The ground is level and clear beneath the cross. We can begin to see the blood of Christ that covers and cleans us. Vulnerability and tenderness arise, both of which may result in our seeing our husbands in a slightly different way.
As I search my stories, I have rooted out some notions that were simple but hard as boulders. Whenever I would go on a trip, my husband would say nothing about missing me. Rather, he would enter the house and say, “I put a hammer under the driver’s seat of the car.”
For years, I felt he didn’t care about me or wouldn’t miss me. Now, I understand he shows his care very practically—the hammer is for practical problems that may arise and for my safety.
When Christmas rolled around, he either got me nothing or told me to buy something for myself. He never asked to drive me around and see the pretty lights, take me to dinner, or initiate the reading of the Christmas story. My notion was that he didn’t love me or the kids and certainly could not love Jesus. Now I realize he loves all of us dearly. He doesn’t know how, or never learned how, to show it.
Does understanding and the removal of hardened notions make everything okay? No. Does it remove the current hurt or past years of pain? No. But it does allow me to choose to love my husband as God does or continue to let contempt grow.
Another aspect of searching our stories involves unveiling triggers in our own lives. Similar to hardened notions, triggers build up over many years of story. As children, we are all hurt in various ways. Over time, the hurts may or may not be a result of harsh abuse, but they do form in each of us. They result in wounds attached to negative lies about ourselves, God, those around us, or the world in general.
As adults, these invisible wounds can take us back to the original childhood pain when bumped up against or triggered. When triggered, we are often unaware of the original wounding and blame our spouse for the pain of the whole wound.
When I was a child, my opinion and emotions didn’t matter. If I cried, the response was, “Stop that, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” I was automatically expected to know how to do anything requested. If I asked a question I was belittled or yelled at. Asking a simple question could result in punishment. That stuck with me, and I refuse to ask for help or how to do something to this day. On the rare occasion when I do ask my husband something, he is usually okay with answering unless it involves the emotions of anyone. Then, he might mumble and leave.
When he ignores my question and leaves, my brain’s danger system jumps into high gear, and I resort to attack mode. I have been triggered. His response is a small piece of my lifelong wounding, but he receives the brunt of my childhood hurts. I’m not a yeller, so my response may be not to speak to him for a day or two, clean the house, or, on rare occasions, I have been known to explode on him.
Triggers reflect wounds that help us better understand ourselves. The more we know about what triggers us, the better we can respond. Being aware of our triggers is part of exploring our stories. How can we achieve this? The next time you feel yourself emotionally escalating, pause and ask, What am I feeling? Really put some time and prayer into this.
Pull out a feelings wheel or chart if necessary. After identifying what you are feeling, ask yourself, When have I felt this way before? Trace the feeling as far back as you can to the sources of your wounding. This method is a simplistic process of self-awareness but profitable if done over time. Also, tracing the wound back in time with a counselor or godly friend may hasten a more peaceful and positive outcome.
Compassion
While in the valley of dry bones searching for triggers and parts of our skeletons, we may run across parts that hold the harm and trauma our husband has experienced. As we search and pray over his bones, empathy arises and is followed by compassion unless we are committed to close-minded bitterness. Whereas empathy is restricted to feeling, compassion holds not only feeling but carries with it a desire to alleviate the suffering of another. This need is vulnerable, deep-hearted, and benevolent, a characteristic of being a part of humanity.
Compassion in no way excuses abuse, whether physical, psychological, or verbal. For now, bask in the understanding that we all have stories, and God is at work in every one of them. We can choose to model the active compassion and love that God expresses to us.
The man answered, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’’’ (Luke 10:27).
If anyone should count as our neighbor, surely it would be our spouse. When we search our stories and allow compassion to flow for our hurt, then wouldn’t the offer stand for the hurts of our husband as well?
Learn New Things
As we study each bone of our story thoroughly, we learn new ideas about ourselves. In my search over the years (yes, years), I have come to a better understanding of myself. My attachment style tends to favor avoidance. My personality is a solid four on the Enneagram; I’m a Lion and an INFJ, depending on which assessment method is used. I’m creative, imaginative, full of ADHD, and love change.
In my search, I also discovered that my husband has a solid avoidant attachment style. He is rigid and logical, refuses change, and is happy being alone. Wow! What did God do there?
Over the past couple of years, I have come to describe myself as a hot air balloon that floats on every whim or idea that arises, which are many. My husband is the anchor or tether that keeps me securely attached to the earth and home. Notice I did not say he grounds my flights. That is a boundary set firm and lovingly between us. We’ve learned that his desire for alone time and my desire for constant flight are quite compatible. Perspective is everything.
We have spoken our stories and searched them with success. Now, it’s time to decide what to do with them. The choice is ours, and it’s a daily choice.
Some days, we must make the decision multiple times, but if we are diligent, the breath of all four winds will blow into us, filling our lungs with power-giving energy and hope to rise up whole.