Whispersfrommyheart's Blog

Dressed Up

Posted on: October 31, 2012

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Have you ever dressed up and felt like you were someone else?

When I was a little girl, I used to go upstairs in the attic of our house to play, “Make Pretend.” I would take my mother’s knee length (to her) wedding dress and put it on. I would find high heels to put on my feet. I put lipstick on and those earrings with the screw on post. I’d also get my mother’s make-up and mascara, and make my face look as beautiful as I could. When I finished, I would tease my hair and hairspray it in a bouffant hairdo before getting a tiara and placing it on my head. Then, I stood in front of the full length mirror I became someone else.

I became someone else.

Escaping reality. For a brief moment, as I twirled the full skirt of the wedding dress, I was a princess. I was loved. I was special. Soon, a prince, on a white stallion with a flowing mane and tail, would ride up and fall in love with me. The moment he saw me, he jumped off of his beautiful horse, get down on one knee and exclaimed his undying love for me. He would take my hand as he stood up and kiss me, on the lips. Then, sweep me off of my feet into his strong, muscular arms and we both rode off together, in the setting of the sun. We lived happily ever after. Just like in my favorite fairytale; Cinderella. Fate smiled down on an abused girl and sent her a rescuer.

Who would rescue me?

In my fairytale world, I wasn’t that little girl men used for their own sexual gratification. I wasn’t bullied and beat up by my classmates and siblings. No one caused my insides to break and bleed. Men didn’t take dirty pictures of me. Or lead me away from safety to rape me. In my own little make-believe world, I mattered. I was safe. Popular. My make believe friends heard the words I said, and noticed when something was not right.

I day dreamed a lot.

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I found an old report card when I was in the first grade. My teacher had noted how I had gone from a friendly, smiling, outgoing, straight “A” student to a very quiet, withdrawn, sullen student with a tendency to daydream and stare out the window. I no longer participated in classroom discussions. I wasn’t doing my homework anymore. I was failing. My teacher was concerned. I don’t remember my parents being too concerned, though. Of course, my mother was dealing with 5 other children, mainly on her own. My father, since he was in the Navy, was gone a lot. He insisted that I needed to study more. Do my homework. Quit acting childish. Stop being stupid. But, really, I don’t blame my parents anymore.

My family was broken.

Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, child rape and molestation weren’t topics anyone would discuss openly. Those were things that were swept under the rug. Hidden in a closet. Out of sight, out of mind—so they thought.

All of my siblings were sexually abused. Each of my three sisters, my two brothers and me.

My Parents were broken.

My parents separated, twice. Each time, because of their 6 children, my parents would reconcile. When they fought, my mother would provoke my father on to the point of smashing his fist through the bathroom door. He never hit my mother physically—though he wanted to. My mother verbally stabbed my father in the heart any time she could. She reduced his manhood in an angry statement. Once she got him good, she twisted it deep. My father usually reacted and when he did, my mother would condemn him for losing control. My father, I think, took some of his frustrations out on his children. Overreacting to simple things. Using his belt, roughly, to discipline for minor infractions. Slapping to prove his point.

Yes, we were fractured every which way.

So, I drifted into a day dream world every chance I got. At home. At school. During sexual abuse. When my parents argued. Anything was better than reality I was born into.

As I became an adult, my make believe world was transformed. I no longer played dress up, and I had long given up on a Prince riding up on any horse. My reality had not improved much since childhood. I was still broken. Now, I gravitated toward those things I hid from as a child. Anger. Hurtful words. Control. Fists. Sexual abuse. But, I still found myself drifting off, day dreaming away from reality.

I was still pretending.

I still did not want to be myself. Instead of putting on a pretty dress and lipstick, I now hid behind a smile and obesity. I dressed myself up as happy. The world saw a happy, albeit large, extremely sweet person with a dazzling smile.

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But, if someone had taken the time to research the look in my eyes, I’m sure they would have found the brokenness inside. Messed up. Hurting. Dying.

What does your smile hide?

Counseling has helped. Allowing Jesus Christ access into the caverns of my heart, and letting him expose the wounds so that I could deal with the issues, has also helped. I’ve grown since my first session. I’m no longer that scared little girl. I now understand how much I am loved even when I am alone. And, I understand who my enemy really is. I know that way back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, Satan tried to steal my heart and soul away.

And, I know Satan has tried to steal your heart and soul away.

I Peter 5:8 “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” NIV

But, Jesus is greater and we no longer need to fear what he tries to do.

I John 4:4 “You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.”

Be blessed and walk in truth today.

~Whispers

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