I sat across from her with hope, maybe this counselor would help me. I knew the drill. I pour out my hurting heart, she tells me what she thinks.

And then she said words I had not heard before, and hope flickered inside me.

“I believe your shifter is broken.”

I sat in disbelief. Could it be as simple as that? Is that what made my life so hard, being unable to shift easily when life presented changes? Counseling was work. I learned that right away.

Romita further explained, “You need to find out what your core beliefs are and when they’re faulty, you need to change them.”

When change was necessary in my life, it’s where I got stuck. If I could just learn to shift easier, maybe there was hope.

But as always, there was more. There were things told to me as a child that I needed to uproot and replace. I thought of how things were done in my home growing up. Dad never made requests, only orders, just like when we were in…

The Snack shop

For the other waitresses, Dad would ring the bell once and say, “pick up.”

But for me, he hit that bell repeatedly and yell, “Annie, pick up!!” And all eyes would be on me. The young waitress. The owner’s daughter.

I was his daughter but felt more like his property.

And growing up, change was never good. Like the day I worked with my dad who was tired from working mom’s shift too.

Why weren’t the hands on the clock moving? Those four hours seemed to take forever.

Finally 8:00 came and my shift was over. I picked up the bags of dinner for my siblings, grabbed my coat and walked out the back door.

Ten minutes later I arrived home. The walk felt good in the cool, November air. I could smell burning leaves.

I barely walked into the back door when the bags of food were snatched from me.

“How did it go with your father?” mom called from their bedroom.

“It was okay,” I said, adding, “but he was crabby.”

And with that I hit the couch in the living room, uniform and all. I didn’t plan on getting up for church the next morning either.

Minutes later my brother woke me up, “Mom’s calling you.”

“No she’s not.”

“Yes she is.”

I was way too tired to play this game. A short while later my father’s large hands shook me.

“Where’s your mother?” he demanded.

“She’s in the bedroom,” I said, shifting again on the couch.

“No, she’s not.” he said minutes later. “Where is she?”

“Then she’s in the bathroom!” I snapped. Our house was not that big.

Finally asleep

Sometimes we awaken to the smell of breakfast cooking. This was not one of those mornings. I awoke to this conversation.

“Dad, you have to do something. Something’s wrong with her.”

“She’ll be okay,” he said quietly. Probably trying to convince himself.

But my brother insisted.

A short while later, we watched an ambulance roll our mother out the back door. We saw her brown eyes widen and she looked terrified.

She died the next day, leaving five kids with no mom and a dad who was more like another kid. Yes, change was never good in our lives.

Maybe the counselor was right. Maybe my shifter was broken. So what was the next step?

It was more counseling, more looking into what I thought about myself and how it affected me. And I learned something valuable. I didn’t think too much of me. But I found out why. It was the words I had heard from my dad.

It was the way we were treated, or rather mistreated. And so, I had to identify those words, and learn how to refute them.

It’s funny how our bodies can grow up, but inside we remain children. Children who need to be nurtured.

A defining moment

One day I was invited to a Bible study. Little did I know how it would change my life—a good change. For starters, it would change the things I told myself.

Names you’re called as a child, stick like strands of spaghetti on a wall.

I had to learn new names to replace bad ones.

Even more than the names I had heard, were the looks on his angry face. Nothing but anger and rage, though I never understood why.

When it got loud in our house, my heart would race. I knew what would happen, and sadly, I was right.

Slipping off his belt, my dad would start whipping it around. And one by one, we were his targets.

I grew up thinking, we must be bad. He’d grit his teeth telling us,

“Put your hands down, or you’re gonna get it worse.”

No amount of pleading would get him to stop. I know because we tried.

I don’t know what was worse, being hit, or hearing my brothers crying as he got closer to the room I shared with my sister.

To this very day, when things get loud, I start getting panicky.

He lacked a softness that dads sometimes need

No more ballerinas

When we were little, my dad would tell my sister and me to make our legs stiff and like magic he would lift us up as we held our arms out. We were ballerinas that owned the world. What happened to that dad?

I remember haircuts dad gave my brothers. Never once did they end well. Instead, you would hear.

“I told you not to move! Now look what you made me do.”

And they would leave the chair with a slap across the face and a spot where the electric razor got too close.

Hands were meant for hugging, not hitting

I kept attending the Bible study and heard that God was like a loving father. I got stuck. I could not relate.

But God was patient. The more I read, the more I wanted to know about God. And eventually, I did understand. I learned that God loved us so much he sacrificed his Son, Jesus for us. It said so right in the Bible, which I learned was his love letter to us.

I learned names God had for me.

Not “stupid idiot,” but my child.

As well as beloved. And the tone God uses with us was not harsh, but loving.

I learned to change my mind

I could now replace things I had been told with the truth.

I could believe what God said instead of what I had believed for so long. And the good news is, it’s not for me alone. It’s for you, too.

I learned:

We are valuable.

God tells us that we are his. That we are valuable. So even if you’ve heard all your life that you are worthless, that is a lie. You can refute that with the truth.

We are accepted.

I used to believe I had a list of things I needed to do before I was accepted. And even then I came up short, I always came up short. But God said we are accepted just as we are.

We are secure.

I never felt secure growing up. Too many changes, no safety at all. But since I became a Christ follower I know that God holds me in the palm of his hand. And his hands are big.

We are loved.

As a child, I felt unloved by my dad. How can you love someone and then beat them? I felt like we were tolerated, but not loved. Our mom loved us, but then she was gone.

God tells us that he loves us. And he proves that love over and over. Read his love letter and you’ll see what I mean. Sometimes I love to just get lost in the Psalms.

New names

I’m done with the old names that used to taunt me.

I am God’s daughter. I am a child of the King. God even calls me his poem.

God loves me, just as I am. It feels good.

I finally feel safe in my Father’s arms.

 

Previously published on Publishous

Photo credit James Scott on Unsplash