Next Chapter or an Ending?

Only time will tell if where I am heading is a chapter or an ending to my story!

Photo by Luca Onniboni on Unsplash

Today is an anniversary of sorts, but not in any good way. Yet, I am thankful because—for the first time in 53 years—I understand the deep sadness that overwhelms me as Thanksgiving approaches. It never made sense to me as I worked hard to live above it.

The deep well of sadness was the impact of a story that my body and subconscious remembered, but I could not bear to know. This year is different. After devoting a year to healing this one story, I can sit with the sadness and reflect on how one horrific night beside a California river would forever impact my life. I can also move forward—as much as possible—from the impact.

Long before I published Brave, or even understood this part of my story, I wrote a blog titled Writing My Own Ending to My Story. It was inspired by the following quote from Brené Brown that I transcribed from a video interview: Story is Love.

“Humans are meaning making machines. How we make meaning is story. Most of us have stories that make up our lives, that explain who we are, how we see the world, and we orphan a number of these stories because they don’t fit with who we think we are supposed to be . . . the problem is that our worthiness our wholeness lives inside those stories. So you either own a story or you stand outside of it— and you hustle and you pretend for your worthiness . . . when you deny a story, it defines you. When you own a story, you get to write the ending . . . [My stories] taught me more about compassion and empathy than anything I could have learned anywhere else. The ending for those stories is, I use those experiences to try make the world a better place, to try to make a contribution. So when you own a story, you become the author, you get to write the ending, and I think that’s what’s beautiful about story; but if there’s no safe place to tell them or dig into them, how do we ever get to the point where we are writing the ending?” Brene Brown

In that blog, I shared the following which I now understand almost ten years later was the beginning of my understanding that, as horrific as that night was, the church culture that silenced me did far more damage.

Sadly, my experiences in the church have centered on the diminishment of story. “Share if you must, but remember the past is covered by the blood of Christ and you are no longer that person. Your goal is to leave it behind, forget it, live above and beyond it.” I lived that mantra—it actually fits very nicely with repression and dissociative tendencies. It wasn’t healthy, but it worked—kind of. I made up a true story of my life that was a perfect cover but didn’t tell anything about those experiences that were so formational to who I became.

In that blog, I said that I was, “Writing my own ending to my story, and in so doing, my desire is to create a safe place for others to begin to share their own stories and be encouraged to seek help if necessary.” It began with Brave and led to hundreds of conversations with survivors in Zoom, emails, groups, and at conferences. Those conversations led to writing Trauma in the Pews. If that had been the ending to my story, it would have been a great one!

Then I had to step out of the arena and fully process what happened during my freshman year of college, while home for Thanksgiving break. It wasn’t just the horrific night, it was all that led to that night and all that followed it. I have shared parts of the story that resulted in the title of my fourth book, Trauma in the Pews. I now sit with the complete story fully intact and understand that simply knowing the story cannot be the end of the story. I ended the original blog by saying,

“I may not have had very many choices in the writing of my story as a child (or teen, or young adult), but now I do. It isn’t easy. It isn’t free from fear. It requires courage and vulnerability. It is a story that could have ended very tragically, but now it is up to me to write my own ending.”

And here I am once again. While I will continue to support those churches that sincerely desire to understand the impact of trauma on those who sit in the pews—or stand behind the pulpit—who I increasingly realize need support are those who “tried so hard to stay as they were leaving.” (unattributed quote)

While reflecting on why people are leaving the church, I ran across the following statement (based on the author’s research):

“The final question asked what people missed about Christianity. For many, it won’t be a surprise that the No. 1 thing respondents listed was community, and by an overwhelming amount.”

The ending of my story will take place out on the fringes where those who could no longer stay are gathering with others who are longing for communities that offer safe spaces for healing. Sometimes it is a church setting that is very different from the one they left, but that isn’t always possible. Wether staying or leaving, the need is for community and healing.

Where I go to write my ending to my story—or at least the next chapter—is to encourage those who once believed that religion would be where they would find hope for healing but were harmed and silenced instead. No, this isn’t everyone’s story, but despite the good people who did care about me, it was mine. This is a hint about my plan to join hands with three of my friends and write a new ending. I will explain tomorrow!