I had been in therapy for over a year and a half, working through the pain of my sexual and physical abuse at the hands of her husband. My mom knew I was in therapy, but refused to speak to me about my past and patently refused to acknowledge the trauma I had experienced. She chose to shove her head in the sand and stonewall conversation by saying, "I don't remember, I didn't know, I did the best I could." These responses were unsatisfying to me. Without acknowledgement of wrongdoing and forgiveness, I knew that our relationship would be forever doomed to surface platitudes and deep-seated pain. I wanted so desperately to heal our relationship, to move past the hurt I felt toward her, that I approached my mother and asked her if she would join me at a counseling session since she was going to be in town anyway. I was overjoyed when she agreed.
I am sure you can figure out what happened next. She arrived at the therapist's office with an attitude. She was defensive and combative. She wouldn't listen to me, she interrupted me, she told the therapist to "shut up" and stormed out. My mom had walked away from me---again. It was over in less than 15 minutes. I was devastated. In that moment, I knew that I would never have the relationship with my mother that I wanted and that my dreams to be one of those women whose mom was their best friend was just that-a dream.
Fast forward ten years.
My daughter and I had hit a crossroads. We desperately loved each other, but could not communicate. Hurt feelings, misunderstandings, painful words and bucket loads of regrets had strained our relationship. During one of our last "skirmishes", after a complete rehashing of everything we had already said to each other a multitude of times, my daughter in her infinite wisdom said, "Mom. We need to go to counseling. We need help." I, in my pride and foolishness said, "No. YOU need counseling." and ended our conversation.
As a child of God, I am so blessed to know that regardless of my past or what has happened, God has enabled me to be different. To break the family mold, to move beyond my past. So many times I have seen person after person fall into the habits and mistakes of their parents and take the well-trod path of least resistance. Change is hard. Changing from family patterns is even harder--but not for my God. As I was standing in the shower, crying my eyes out over my broken relationship with my daughter, God brought to me a memory: My mom walking out that therapist's door and slamming it. I was immediately flooded with grief and shame. Grief over the loss of a relationship with my mother and shame that I had almost done the same to my child. I begged God to forgive me. I begged Him to help me be different. Mostly though, I begged God to help Rhianna forgive me of my stubborn heart.
Later, I texted my girl. I told her to book the appointment. I would do whatever it takes to save our relationship. I felt freed. I felt new.
And that, my friends is how God breaks someone free from a dysfunctional family pattern.
