Unprotected, Pt. 3

The effects of being in the world unprotected flare up in me even now as I grow in grace. The festering that was a part of me has gone down tremendously; I am no longer dying by my own hand of believing I have no worth, that I deserved to be treated like a piece of meat, or that my worth was only between my legs. I went to some real counseling, and (God bless her) the good doctor helped me get over a lot. Sexual addictions, self inflicted misery, depression, anxiety… All products of a life where my boundaries had been breached over and over against my will until I just didn’t bother anymore. She showed me how to protect myself, to be the person I needed when I was younger for myself now.

But the infection lingers. If I were being perfectly honest, I had not really understood how much more healing I have to do until I heard a sermon by  a female elder of the church I attended, entitled “Shame on you?” A  lot of things she said I had already received a revelation about and had been working on. But as I sat there God showed me a flash of myself that I guess He thought I was finally ready for: the hardening that has come from having to protect myself my entire life.

And I had been hardened. I smile, I joke, I wink, I doll up–but all that masks an immense amount of pain and disappointment that, even now–being married all these years–I still felt unprotected in the simplest ways. I resented the weight of not being able to just be a girl. Instead I have been: mom, wife, cleaner, cooker, folder, fixer, mover, driver, punisher, engager, worker, volunteer, fighter, finder… It felt like everything and everybody was waiting on me to do and all I wanted was to be led into a secure place. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to feel taken care of. I wanted to feel not concerned because it is handled and I don’t have to handle it.

In showing me that picture of myself, God didn’t leave me hanging. The last few months have been filled with another layer of healing embrace as I flood my world with women working on the same struggles I have endured, all coming to that last place of softening.

It is the last stronghold of a life spent in defense–to be intentional in my vulnerability, to embrace the God given nature of softness alloted to me as a female presence on the earth. I am unlearning the excessive leaning on my male attributes of toughness and independence and relearning the sweetness of intution and lightness of being. Every moment I am present in this newly treasured softness, I gather up a strength in my womb designed to create and nurture the space I inhabit. I have acknowledged my need to control, given over to trusting the process of tenderness embedded in the Creator’s love. I have shed the image of God as man, instead reframing my understanding of God as spirit, welcoming to the feminine energy that God created and gave to me.  These breasts are not just for show–they are physical emblems of God’s longing to nourish. This womb isn’t just for babies–it is a physical reminder of the power to give life. This menstrual cycle isn’t a nuisance–it is a monthly refreshing covenant God gave me that represents that washing of the Blood.

The day I reclaimed the womanhood snatched from me as a little girl by wolves dressed as men is the day that I found myself encompassed by the protection I desired all along.

In this mindful moment, I honor every female presence struggling with snatching back their divinity in a lifetime of violation, degradation, devaluing, and objectification. I give space inside myself for your healing and wholeness. I bless you in the name of El Shaddai, The God of breasts, who nourishes and supplies every need to the nations.

 

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