Pain from the Start

From the very beginning, the pain and hurt of abuse racked my soul, forever etching its scars into my heart.  In fact, I am bothered to say that even the earliest of my memories are tainted with the pictures of violence.  Pictures and memories that no child should see, must less recall over the span of a lifetime.  Nevertheless, they are there and are my true reality. 

These memories and recollections don’t come in fancy wrapping or coverings, but rather they are viewed through the war-torn and scarred heart that has to replay them.  Reels upon reels of violence and sorrow, hurt and pain, guilt and shame have long played themselves through my heart and mind so many times.  There is a true meaning to me when I hear the phrase, “I know it by heart”, because unfortunately I do and many of you may know this as well. 

Buried Beneath Layers of Pain(t)

Way too many women carry the scars of abuse. Some of these scars can be detected with the physical eye. Yet others are so very deeply embedded and disguised that one would have a have a difficult time recognizing them. That is unless they truly know what hidden scars look like. I do not gloat when I say that I know what these scars look like, it is only from experience do I write.


At first I could not distinguish my own scars because I worked so very hard to cover them up. Unfortunately, cosmetics won't work on these as they do with bruises, so I was creative in my disguise. I hid them behind the appearance of a clean, neatly organized home; husband and children neatly pressed and well-dressed; being an active football, cheerleading, jazz and gymnastics mom; being an (over)achiever in my job; an overall well-kept front of "everything is okay"; and eventually I allowed my pain and hurt to be masked by covering it with and in the "church". Notice the last part of my statement, I hid in the church, not God, not Christ, but the church.