Q3: Your book, Blaming God - A Victim’s Journey, reveals significant self-blame and shame, yet you seem to find a sense of freedom by the end. Can you tell us about that journey?
A: What is freedom, really? What exactly are we seeking freedom from? And frankly, is it freedom we need, or is it something else—something that feels too far out of reach or too complex for our human minds to wrap around?
If you’re expecting a feel-good, happily-ever-after, Hollywood ending to my journey of become “freer,” you’re in for a surprise. Life has a way of sticking to us, and we either adapt to it or transform it into something meaningful that contributes to humanity and links us to eternity. Any version of freedom promised by easy-step programs is simply blowing smoke. Getting caught up in the “praying away” of ailments hasn’t yielded the results I hoped for. Maybe the magic wand works for some, but I must have missed the memo on where to buy one. Freedom, I’ve learned, is earned, not wished for— much to my dismay.
Slow & Painful Process of Self-Realization
I delve deep into this journey in Chapter SIX of my book, Blaming God - A Victim’s Journey. Ironically, I entitled this chapter “Can You See Me?” as a direct acknowledgment that I had not seen myself for who I truly was. It took me until mid-life to understand and accept that I am a person of value and significance. The struggle to arrive at this truth was monumental. What had I been doing with all that passing time?
One thing I know for sure is that I didn’t wake up one morning wearing an “arrival” name tag. In fact, I have yet to receive my “arrival” name tag, to be honest. I take a few steps forward, then a couple of steps back, inching forward like a slug running out of its own slime on a sidewalk. Will I make it to the grass this time or not?
The Lost Child
I dedicate my book to my child-self because it was as a child that I first became lost, and I promised that child I would never let it happen again. Going forward, I am committed to that child who had no choice but to be lost, and I am committed to all others grieving the loss of their child-self. They’re still inside us somewhere, mucking about and trying to self-soothe in ways that accomplish nothing but create havoc for the adult bodies they’re trapped in. The responsibility seems daunting, but I’m in it for the long haul—because that child deserves nothing less.
I am well aware that it was in my childhood state that I hostilely labelled myself with shame and blame—labels so painful I don’t even want to admit them to myself. Yet, it was that child who became the driving force behind my future decisions. It was that child-self who dictated personal relationships, and it was that very child whom I had to fight to set free.
Freeing my inner child from captivity was both exhilarating and grievous. Seeing my child-self made it impossible to ignore the fact that I had dragged my own children down that same broken road at a thousand miles an hour while trying desperately to pull the e-brake. I could see how I had tried to protect them, yet still completely immersed them in the chaos of my life. They certainly weren’t coming out unscathed, and realizing this brought its own unique shame and grief. If you think your life is not contagious, you can think again!
Regardless, they were dragged along—completely oblivious —that those entrusted with their care were too consumed by their own mess to realize the stench couldn’t be washed away with well-intended efforts to “hide” the dysfunction. Avoidance of participation might be self-soothing, but it voids any possibility of healing for those caught in the mess. We need a license to drive but not a license to raise a child—make it make sense?
The Pain of Passing on Baggage
My children were both the catalyst and the sorrow that fuelled my inner drive, a wailing in the pit of my soul. It hurt in a way that offered no relief; I saw my own child-self reflected in them. I had let them all down. Time is an unrenewable resource—there are no do-overs, only do-forwards.
There is often a reassuring tone when others recommend counselling or trauma treatment, as if it will be a walk in the park, where you can leave all your baggage in the treatment room and wash your hands of it. Nobody tells you that it may take years to unbuckle the past and finally walk out that door feeling peace. If they did, I’m certain it would be a hard pass for most of us. Then again, if those offering the advice had walked the walk in the first place, they would understand the realism of the valley they are suggesting.
When I say I’ve had a lifetime saturated with treatment, I’m not exaggerating. I saw clearly that my children were lugging around my baggage, and it was far too heavy for them to carry. I could also see that some of it had morphed into a part of them. If I wanted my own children to have any chance at “freedom,” I knew I had to make the sacrifice.
Confronting Denial and Embracing Healing
Initially, I refused to acknowledge the weakness of my emotional health. I would never have defined myself as depressed, suicidal, or riddled with anxiety. That was for other people! Denial, denial, denial. I packaged all my emotions in a bag labeled “loneliness,” a state I couldn’t talk myself out of.
That loneliness first accompanied me to my “Beat the Dummy Therapy,” where I mourned my desolation and wondered what my life—and my children’s lives—would have been like had I made different decisions.
The 12-Step Program was long and arduous, and I truly wanted it to end. Writing letters to burn and opening every flavour of worms for a fishing trip I didn’t want to attend was not the cup of java I craved. But it wasn’t optional.
And the 12-Step Program was just the icing on the cake. There were all the other layers to work through: group therapy, trauma-intensive therapy, NAT (neuro-affective touch), NET (neuro-emotional technique), individual therapy, couples therapy, family therapy, Cereset, and EMDR.
The Breakthrough with EMDR
EMDR, otherwise known as “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing,” was where things started to untangle. Most significantly, this was the therapy that was most effective in breaking the chains of self-blame and shame. It allowed me to come face to face with my inner critic.
During the “eye movement” portion of EMDR, you concentrate on a traumatic memory and the belief or emotion you hold regarding that memory. While working through this memory with your counsellor, you then formulate a changed response or emotion—one of truth or healing.
I can still vividly recall where I was sitting in my counsellors’ office on the first day of treatment—the layout of the room, the décor, the feeling of the air. The memory we chose was how I had responded to being violated. We didn’t choose the violation itself per se—we chose my response to it.
At that time, I held an aggressively angry position toward myself because I hadn’t responded the way I thought I should have. In my mind, this had led to a lost court case, which then led to rejection, abandonment, and humiliation from both family and community. Essentially, I believed I had caused this trajectory. It was my fault. I was stupid.
I go into this in much more depth in Chapter SIX of my book. It was my inner critic that I had to identify and come to terms with—the fact that I, myself, had actually sided with not only my abuser but also those who had denied me justice and taken his side. I was an accomplice to my own abuse.
Facing My Inner Critic
The adult, analytical side of my brain—as I matured—absolutely denied my child-self. As I became an adult, I continued to chastise my child-self for my response. I berated myself continuously because I had not responded in the way I thought I should have.
It was during a session of EMDR that this position was revealed to me. I can clearly see the face of that 13-year-old in front of me during my treatment, and I remember the rush of emotion that washed over me. For the very first time since the violation, I was able to see that child for what she was—a 13-year-old child. Tragically, I fully understood why she had responded the way she had to the abuse; she was a child. She responded as a child because she was a child. I had been denying my child-self.
The full weight of this clarity really hit home when my oldest daughter turned thirteen. At thirteen, I could see her delicate innocence so clearly. The fact that she was often referenced as my “mini-me” certainly did not make it any easier. She was the child-self I could reach out and touch in real life form. She was the hand in mine, and the voice that beckoned “mama” for all life’s unfolding.
As a “mama bear” you love your children so deeply that you swear to do anything necessary, by any means, to protect them. And then you don’t. You don’t because you can’t. You can’t because the brokenness of your own soul has been archived to a file no history search can find. All your key words come back as “match unfound” because somehow, your heart has not reached capacity to access those memories yet. Or you simply are denying those files exist all together because you’ve never moved out of “survival mode.” The process of living, where healing begins, has been put on hold.
God have mercy on the parents who’s eyes have been opened to the reality that they have passed their trauma onto their own children. I pray for a comfort that surpasses any human understanding.
Of all the layers of shame and grief, this one leaves a lasting sting.
The Path to Forgiveness and True Freedom
I open my book with a dedication to my child-self, and here’s why—it’s my way of expressing remorse and acknowledging a promise that I will never allow that kind of harm to happen again. I had tried to move on from my childhood trauma, but I didn’t realize I was doing so while still holding onto internal anger and unforgiveness. We often think of forgiveness as something we need to extend to others, but rarely do we understand that our inability to forgive ourselves can be the greatest barrier to healing.
This acknowledgment awakened a grief I didn’t know existed—one that was necessary for the healing process. Avoidance often stems from an inability to face the depth of our heartache or to admit that we may have played a role in perpetuating it. Avoidance allows harm to fester, and it’s the monster you feed that grows. I fed my inner critic, and it affected every decision I made thereafter. I had to confront her before I could begin my healing journey.
James 5:16 says, “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” Sometimes asking God to reveal our inner truths will give us the uncommon clarity we need to heal.
God's Mercy in the Journey
I am thankful that God was merciful with me on this journey. He revealed things bit by bit, as I could process them, and gave me the space to sort through the muck. He used my daughters in the most loving way to show me my own significance and the significance of all His daughters.
So, back to the question of the journey to becoming “freer”—I embrace it now. I don’t despair in it (as much) anymore. I can see that God has a purpose in it. I want to be free of anything that God does not have a purpose for. That, to me, is true freedom.
Freedom is not calculated by the passage of time. To be free is not to be “without” affliction, grief or all things we beg to be spared of. Rather, it is to be free of the weight of those burdens and to trust the Maker to mold them into something, that eventually, holds eternal significance.
One day, when I meet my Maker, I will experience a freedom that is impossible in our current human state. God designed us this way. We are complete when we come face to face with Him. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there is no fairy tale ending where we wake up one morning and win the lottery of a life with zero struggle. For that, we’d have to go back to the first book of the Bible—Genesis—and use our magic wand powers!
John 8:36 says, “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” This is the ultimate freedom, a freedom that transcends our earthly struggles and is found in Christ alone.
Slow & Painful Process of Self-Realization
I delve deep into this journey in Chapter SIX of my book, Blaming God - A Victim’s Journey. Ironically, I entitled this chapter “Can You See Me?” as a direct acknowledgment that I had not seen myself for who I truly was. It took me until mid-life to understand and accept that I am a person of value and significance. The struggle to arrive at this truth was monumental. What had I been doing with all that passing time?
One thing I know for sure is that I didn’t wake up one morning wearing an “arrival” name tag. In fact, I have yet to receive my “arrival” name tag, to be honest. I take a few steps forward, then a couple of steps back, inching forward like a slug running out of its own slime on a sidewalk. Will I make it to the grass this time or not?
The Lost Child
I dedicate my book to my child-self because it was as a child that I first became lost, and I promised that child I would never let it happen again. Going forward, I am committed to that child who had no choice but to be lost, and I am committed to all others grieving the loss of their child-self. They’re still inside us somewhere, mucking about and trying to self-soothe in ways that accomplish nothing but create havoc for the adult bodies they’re trapped in. The responsibility seems daunting, but I’m in it for the long haul—because that child deserves nothing less.
I am well aware that it was in my childhood state that I hostilely labelled myself with shame and blame—labels so painful I don’t even want to admit them to myself. Yet, it was that child who became the driving force behind my future decisions. It was that child-self who dictated personal relationships, and it was that very child whom I had to fight to set free.
Freeing my inner child from captivity was both exhilarating and grievous. Seeing my child-self made it impossible to ignore the fact that I had dragged my own children down that same broken road at a thousand miles an hour while trying desperately to pull the e-brake. I could see how I had tried to protect them, yet still completely immersed them in the chaos of my life. They certainly weren’t coming out unscathed, and realizing this brought its own unique shame and grief. If you think your life is not contagious, you can think again!
Regardless, they were dragged along—completely oblivious —that those entrusted with their care were too consumed by their own mess to realize the stench couldn’t be washed away with well-intended efforts to “hide” the dysfunction. Avoidance of participation might be self-soothing, but it voids any possibility of healing for those caught in the mess. We need a license to drive but not a license to raise a child—make it make sense?
The Pain of Passing on Baggage
My children were both the catalyst and the sorrow that fuelled my inner drive, a wailing in the pit of my soul. It hurt in a way that offered no relief; I saw my own child-self reflected in them. I had let them all down. Time is an unrenewable resource—there are no do-overs, only do-forwards.
There is often a reassuring tone when others recommend counselling or trauma treatment, as if it will be a walk in the park, where you can leave all your baggage in the treatment room and wash your hands of it. Nobody tells you that it may take years to unbuckle the past and finally walk out that door feeling peace. If they did, I’m certain it would be a hard pass for most of us. Then again, if those offering the advice had walked the walk in the first place, they would understand the realism of the valley they are suggesting.
When I say I’ve had a lifetime saturated with treatment, I’m not exaggerating. I saw clearly that my children were lugging around my baggage, and it was far too heavy for them to carry. I could also see that some of it had morphed into a part of them. If I wanted my own children to have any chance at “freedom,” I knew I had to make the sacrifice.
Confronting Denial and Embracing Healing
Initially, I refused to acknowledge the weakness of my emotional health. I would never have defined myself as depressed, suicidal, or riddled with anxiety. That was for other people! Denial, denial, denial. I packaged all my emotions in a bag labeled “loneliness,” a state I couldn’t talk myself out of.
That loneliness first accompanied me to my “Beat the Dummy Therapy,” where I mourned my desolation and wondered what my life—and my children’s lives—would have been like had I made different decisions.
The 12-Step Program was long and arduous, and I truly wanted it to end. Writing letters to burn and opening every flavour of worms for a fishing trip I didn’t want to attend was not the cup of java I craved. But it wasn’t optional.
And the 12-Step Program was just the icing on the cake. There were all the other layers to work through: group therapy, trauma-intensive therapy, NAT (neuro-affective touch), NET (neuro-emotional technique), individual therapy, couples therapy, family therapy, Cereset, and EMDR.
The Breakthrough with EMDR
EMDR, otherwise known as “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing,” was where things started to untangle. Most significantly, this was the therapy that was most effective in breaking the chains of self-blame and shame. It allowed me to come face to face with my inner critic.
During the “eye movement” portion of EMDR, you concentrate on a traumatic memory and the belief or emotion you hold regarding that memory. While working through this memory with your counsellor, you then formulate a changed response or emotion—one of truth or healing.
I can still vividly recall where I was sitting in my counsellors’ office on the first day of treatment—the layout of the room, the décor, the feeling of the air. The memory we chose was how I had responded to being violated. We didn’t choose the violation itself per se—we chose my response to it.
At that time, I held an aggressively angry position toward myself because I hadn’t responded the way I thought I should have. In my mind, this had led to a lost court case, which then led to rejection, abandonment, and humiliation from both family and community. Essentially, I believed I had caused this trajectory. It was my fault. I was stupid.
I go into this in much more depth in Chapter SIX of my book. It was my inner critic that I had to identify and come to terms with—the fact that I, myself, had actually sided with not only my abuser but also those who had denied me justice and taken his side. I was an accomplice to my own abuse.
Facing My Inner Critic
The adult, analytical side of my brain—as I matured—absolutely denied my child-self. As I became an adult, I continued to chastise my child-self for my response. I berated myself continuously because I had not responded in the way I thought I should have.
It was during a session of EMDR that this position was revealed to me. I can clearly see the face of that 13-year-old in front of me during my treatment, and I remember the rush of emotion that washed over me. For the very first time since the violation, I was able to see that child for what she was—a 13-year-old child. Tragically, I fully understood why she had responded the way she had to the abuse; she was a child. She responded as a child because she was a child. I had been denying my child-self.
The full weight of this clarity really hit home when my oldest daughter turned thirteen. At thirteen, I could see her delicate innocence so clearly. The fact that she was often referenced as my “mini-me” certainly did not make it any easier. She was the child-self I could reach out and touch in real life form. She was the hand in mine, and the voice that beckoned “mama” for all life’s unfolding.
As a “mama bear” you love your children so deeply that you swear to do anything necessary, by any means, to protect them. And then you don’t. You don’t because you can’t. You can’t because the brokenness of your own soul has been archived to a file no history search can find. All your key words come back as “match unfound” because somehow, your heart has not reached capacity to access those memories yet. Or you simply are denying those files exist all together because you’ve never moved out of “survival mode.” The process of living, where healing begins, has been put on hold.
God have mercy on the parents who’s eyes have been opened to the reality that they have passed their trauma onto their own children. I pray for a comfort that surpasses any human understanding.
Of all the layers of shame and grief, this one leaves a lasting sting.
The Path to Forgiveness and True Freedom
I open my book with a dedication to my child-self, and here’s why—it’s my way of expressing remorse and acknowledging a promise that I will never allow that kind of harm to happen again. I had tried to move on from my childhood trauma, but I didn’t realize I was doing so while still holding onto internal anger and unforgiveness. We often think of forgiveness as something we need to extend to others, but rarely do we understand that our inability to forgive ourselves can be the greatest barrier to healing.
This acknowledgment awakened a grief I didn’t know existed—one that was necessary for the healing process. Avoidance often stems from an inability to face the depth of our heartache or to admit that we may have played a role in perpetuating it. Avoidance allows harm to fester, and it’s the monster you feed that grows. I fed my inner critic, and it affected every decision I made thereafter. I had to confront her before I could begin my healing journey.
James 5:16 says, “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” Sometimes asking God to reveal our inner truths will give us the uncommon clarity we need to heal.
God's Mercy in the Journey
I am thankful that God was merciful with me on this journey. He revealed things bit by bit, as I could process them, and gave me the space to sort through the muck. He used my daughters in the most loving way to show me my own significance and the significance of all His daughters.
So, back to the question of the journey to becoming “freer”—I embrace it now. I don’t despair in it (as much) anymore. I can see that God has a purpose in it. I want to be free of anything that God does not have a purpose for. That, to me, is true freedom.
Freedom is not calculated by the passage of time. To be free is not to be “without” affliction, grief or all things we beg to be spared of. Rather, it is to be free of the weight of those burdens and to trust the Maker to mold them into something, that eventually, holds eternal significance.
One day, when I meet my Maker, I will experience a freedom that is impossible in our current human state. God designed us this way. We are complete when we come face to face with Him. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there is no fairy tale ending where we wake up one morning and win the lottery of a life with zero struggle. For that, we’d have to go back to the first book of the Bible—Genesis—and use our magic wand powers!
John 8:36 says, “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” This is the ultimate freedom, a freedom that transcends our earthly struggles and is found in Christ alone.