Twenty years ago, I had my first audio memory of a past I had entirely suppressed.
At the time I was part of a christian twelve step program called the Most Excellent Way.
I had realized that while I did not have the crystal addiction anymore, I was still plagued by addict behavior/mentality.
When I had my first memory, it was one of the group members that I called. I did not understand what was happening to me. But she had shared personal stuff with vulnerability an to me she felt safe. She explained that since we experience thins with all of our senses that recall can come through the same ways. She asked if I wanted to meet. I did. The second time we met I had a memory of my finger being cut and my blood being used to write my name in a book. She suggested we get a team and do some renunciations. I agreed.
So she, my transparent friend, another gal (who was a ritual abuse survivor), and a clinical psychologist (who went to our calvary chapel) set an appointment time.
I came. They led me through some prayers. I only remembered part of it.
At the end, the psychologist said to me that he would like to talk to the girl who had spoken with him earlier. I looked at him blankly. In my head I heard, he wants to talk to me. I reported what she said and they had a conversation, him to her and her through me to him.
Our time ended. He looked at me and said, my healing might take a little while. There was kindness in his eyes. And I was sent home.
I was not given any reasons for why I could now hear this girl in my head. My condition was not labeled as dissociative identity disorder until months later.
When I heard the term, me being me, I wanted to go search it out. I wanted to read books. I wanted to get healed.
In those days, hearing from God was more like an occasional dialogue than the oneness and witness that relationship has now become.
He was so specific with me. No.
Looking back I see that he knew me, he knew my need to control. He knew that I would learn so I could fix myself. And he had a better way.
He would teach me trust through making me lean on him.
He would restore me to people by allowing me relationships where I could safely lean.
He would use people who knew and had gone ahead of me so that I could benefit from their journey while growing in my dependence on him.
He is so good.
At 30, I did not see. All I saw was that there was stuff inside me that I was not in charge of or connected to. God! That was scary. I had parts with distinct personalities. Not all of them loved God! I remember how unsafe that felt. The idea that there was junk in me that I had no control over made me doubt my whole world. All of my definitions were needing re-examination. What was love? Who was God? What was family? How could hate an love exist simultaneously inside me?
The anger made me afraid. I was afraid I would kill someone. Or that they would know. And come and kill me. They always knew, when I was little, when I was mad. I was punished for it. Whether we were together or apart. They always knew.
I remember going to Mick at church. I was not sure how to make him understand. I remember trembling. I stood in line, to wait to talk to him. My turn came. I said, I have some memories from childhood that I repressed. They are coming up now. I am afraid. I am beginning to feel anger. (It was not that I did not feel it all before. But it was an undercurrent of how I lived life. I overreacted in disproportionate ways to life’s curves.) This anger…I am worried, I might hurt someone. He put his hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes. His prayer rings in me, it was an eternal sentence that was straight from the Lord to me. Turn the water into wine, Lord. That is all he said. That was it. At the time it seemed like it was not enough. Today when I pray this for others, I know that it was more than enough. He makes everything beautiful in its time. Even broken little girls who are filled with fear and anger. He did that for me. Beginning twenty years ago. Amazing grace.