12 Oct Healing is a beautiful thing. You should try it

It is astounding how much hate the human heart can carry. I am a short woman, 5‘ flat, but the amount of hate I have carried in my being is enough to topple several Shaquille O’neal’s. Carrying a grudge and being vengeful was always something I did, my memory is eerily clear too, I remember things with startling clarity. Especially the negatives. That’s human nature though. The negative floats to the forefront while we have to work hard to retain the positive aspects of our day-to-day. I would carry out get-back-at plots to individuals who hurt me to fruition. No matter how long it took. Yes, I am patient. I exercised this toxic trait to its maximum in my 20’s. I then became a Mom and compassion was wrought from my soul and I did a complete turn. I always say motherhood saved me from myself.

I got married and all those forgotten negative emotions were revived. How can someone forgive another person who has caused them great pain and resentment? How do you go from hate to healing? How do you make that conscious step to walk away from these intense feelings that consume your being? Hatred so deep that if these individuals were lined in a firing squad you would shoot them multiple times devoid of recoil without batting an eyelid then go for a burger feast. Their supposed loss of lives not shaking you one iota. That much hate. How do you even get to that point you ask. Consistent disrespect. That’s what people don’t come to terms with. You cannot consistently belittle/demean and abuse someone and not expect some form of retaliation. For some, they go all out and exact physical and verbal retribution.

Then, there’s us.

I bottled so much disrespect. I did not speak up. I expected my husband to speak up for me because the people trampling expected boundaries were his people. He did not. The few times he did, it was always half-hearted. There I was, left with unresolved issues, disrespect, hatred, and growing despair at the irreparable rift. When the abuse escalated to physical violence, that is when I ‘woke up.’ I stepped in and decided to be the heroine in my story. No one was going to step in and save me. I needed to save myself from it all. For me, for my children, and my mental health state. I needed to step up, speak up and stand my ground. It did not go down well with them. These were people who had been given a leeway to do whatever they wanted and the newly erected boundary from my camp became a problem.

I finally packed up and left after weighing all my pros and cons. Nothing was working anymore. They were increasingly getting ballsy with their antics and I was increasingly getting depressed. There was no way of anything working out in my favor except to walk. Everyone was getting what they needed to do or say no matter how wrong it was…all at my expense. I made peace, mourned the loss of my marriage, cried over separating my children from their father when that was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I packed up mine and my children’s belongings and left. I was finally free. My matrimonial home had become a prison cell. It had become hell on earth. It became a nightmare that I desperately wanted to wake up from. The night before leaving was the most surreal night of my life. I was scared, I was hurting but I needed to be brave.

The peace I craved and left to find was attacked. I was removed from the family Whatsapp group which prompted me to leave all the remaining family groups. I was called a thief, that I stole from my husband when I did not. I was called all kinds of names, allegations were leveled against my character. Because I could not be present to defend my name, stories were peddled and flew high and wide. Village gossip mills got the shine in muddying my name. Ohh the things said about me. I was so sad. For me to leave meant I was not in a good place, why follow up my exit with vicious lies? I left quietly and did not speak about what happened because I was more focused on saving myself. I did not have the time to mud-sling anyone but mob mentality took over everyone and I became their main focus…yet they knew I was not okay, had not been in a long while.

I did not understand their animosity and bile. All they had to go on were malicious hearsay, if they were each asked if they personally saw or heard me do and say those vile things what exactly would they say? That’s right, nothing. My loathing on the other hand stemmed from things they had said to me, about me, and the things physically done to me. They were all legitimate. And hate I did. Whew. That is not a good place to be in. Carrying such heavy tangible negative emotions has never been healthy for anyone. It has been attributed akin to drinking poison and expecting the other individual to die. It hurts you. Forgive, let go, and let God. That’s what I did after several months of hurting myself. I came across a sermon that said the people who hurt us, the people we love to hate… Jesus died for them too. That was the most annoying and humbling phrase. How could He? Them? Puuh.

Healing is freeing. To go from wishing the worst to praying for them and meaning it has been such a balm to my soul. I do not wish anyone harm. God’s got them, He’s got me, He’s got my children. He’s got us all. Do yourself a favor, don’t fight battles not meant for your shoulders, they are not strong enough to bear it. Jesus says  “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Nowhere under the sun can you find healing, peace, and rest than at Jesus’s feet.