What Took Me So Long?

Sometimes I get mad at myself.

What took me so long?

If only I had faced my trauma years ago.

Maybe I would have made better decisions for my family.

Parented differently.

Protected my children from “bad” people.

Maybe my marriage would have been less volcanic.

What took me so long?

I thought I was healed.

I believed that giving it to God was enough.

That forgiving my abusers was enough.

That gratitude, grace, and love

would overcome everything dark.

I truly believed people could change.

I believed in redemption for all.

And all meant all.

So I chose radical love.

I lived my life to elevate others.

To see people in their pain and lift them up.

I applied whatever healing balm I thought I had

and poured it onto everyone else.

I loved my children fiercely.

I stayed faithful and committed to my husband.

I walked in reconciliation with those who hurt me most.

I lived busy.

I homeschooled my children.

I made everything from scratch.

Bread.

Yogurt.

Cleaning supplies.

If it could be done by hand, I probably did it.

I worked.

I volunteered.

I pushed myself to exhaustion.

Until I collapsed.

I liked my love bubble.

It looked good.

It felt good.

And yet.

The cost of not healing was always there.

In my body.

In my relationships.

In my work ethic.

I didn’t know my entire personality was coping.

Staying busy meant there was no time to think.

Self-reflection felt like criticism.

Rest felt dangerous.

Here’s the truth I couldn’t name then:

I never felt worthy.

I poured out love everywhere

because I didn’t believe I was worth receiving it.

I was peaceful and protective

because I couldn’t tolerate disruption.

I worked harder hoping someone might see me

and not reject me.

I made people feel close

while keeping them at a distance.

I barely let my husband in.

Sometimes, not even him.

I cared so deeply for others

because I never wanted anyone to feel the way I did.

I cast my cares onto Jesus over and over

without realizing

that maybe I needed to feel them.

Everything was outward.

Someone else needed to save me.

I didn’t yet know that the power to heal

was already within me.

To walk this path, everything had to change.

I had to end relationships with those who harmed me most.

My mother.

My stepfather.

We were enmeshed in every way.

It felt impossible.

And I never wanted to hurt them.

I protected them with unrelenting loyalty.

So much had to be upended

for healing to have room.

What took me so long?

I couldn’t see it.

I couldn’t name it.

I couldn’t feel it.

And honestly.

Did I even believe I was worth it?

Didn’t others matter more?

So I’m saying this now.

Rebecca, I am not mad at you.

You coped beautifully.

You survived with the tools you had.

You are not late.

It’s time to heal now.For you.

You are worthy.

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