Clogged Faucet

Sometimes you just want to cry, you just need to cry… but I often can’t, or won’t… I’m honestly not sure which.  Have you ever really had to sneeze but the darn thing just won’t come out?  That’s the way I feel about my tears.  You feel the emotional burn building up, churring and straining to emerge but alas… there’s no release.  No amount of looking at the sun, sniffing, watching a sad movie or thinking more depressing thoughts will break the seal which has thickened over my tear ducts from years of lies.

Growing up in an abusive environment children are often taught that their emotions are either bad and punished or rather completely disregarded.  My situation was no different.  You couldn’t cry in front of a man you were supposed to have sex with. (Because that, not the fact that I was a child, was unattractive.)  And I couldn’t cry at home either.

I remember a specific instance where I was undergoing some horrific torture for some unknown reason.  The details of this event aren’t necessary to discuss here but the backs of my legs were violently stinging and I was crying– a HUGE no, no and luxury I rarely allowed myself to take part in.  It just hurt too bad.  There are a couple of things which stick out in my memory about that event but one element is not about the abuse at all.  Someone had just left the room where this was taking place because he was so upset and couldn’t handle it.  I then heard my mother say, “See look what you did! All of your carrying on has made him so upset he’s had to leave!”  I was forever shamed.

Crying can be a healthy release and should be allowed as children and as adults, as a male or as a female.  Sure, there’s an appropriate time and place for everything, but it shouldn’t be looked upon as a shameful expression.  I still to this day have a hard time.  It’s rare that I don’t feel embarrassed at my own tears falling.  It makes me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable… as if crying boldly denotes great weakness.  The converse though is that in private, I hate that this part of my emotions still isn’t fully integrated.  It’s better, but still not there.  I’ll fix my faucet one of these days.

May this blog serve as an education to those who do not yet know or understand the atrocities of trafficking and may it serve as an encouragement to those who understand it all too well.

(Post originally written 3/7/12)
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8 Comments

  1. After reading this post, I just want to put my arms around you and cradle you and rock you, until it all goes away. i’ll be humming a little tune, all melodies in c major, only balsam for the wounds. you are not alone.

    Reply
  2. Strange how you posted this the same day I came up with the name of the book I’m writing about my experience. Don’t Cry, Broken Angel is going to be printed soon. Thank you for posting this and letting us know we AREN’T alone. For too long many of us have been trained not to cry and now, when healing demands it of us, we can’t. Or can’t stop…

    Reply
  3. I have been following your blog since you started it and I could really connect with this post. I, too, am a survivor of trafficking, although my story is very different from yours. I also have a hard time crying and I can’t always determine if it’s because I can’t or won’t. Many of my friends don’t understand it. For them, crying isn’t something they can easily stop and for me it’s not something I can easily allow myself to do. It helps to know I’m not alone in this.

    Reply
    • Wow, you’re comment really means a lot to me thank you. It’s funny how our stories can be so different and yet sometimes contain such similar threads… thanks for letting me know that I’m not alone either.

      Reply
  4. Marty D.

     /  March 8, 2012

    Hey there. Not sure if my responses ever got to you from hitting “reply” to your email updates which I subscribed to off your blog. But here are the last two I sent to you

    For you, a song from the heart of God,

    Encouragement to never give up, because He holds you, sustains you and delivers you – for HIS glory!!

    Thankful to our Lord and Savior for holding us and neveg giving up on us – even when we are weak or fail or fall or want to give up.

    Reply
    • No Marty, the emails didn’t come through sorry… but this post did. 🙂 I love MercyMe’s music too!

      Reply
      • Marty D.

         /  March 8, 2012

        thanks for letting me know. I guess all the other responses I sent you never got to you either. If I felt I had something encouraging I would share it. Otherwise, I just learned more about your ordeals and what people go through after such experiences. I’m a trucker and have often talked to these girls to try to help them see that it is a dead end and dangerous “profession” and that God really does care for them. God has used me at times to share scriptures that have brought them to tears and helped them to see how God values them. I prayed with one girl on one such occasion and after she left my tuck I looked back and she literally disappeared! I’m not kidding. She had been telling me about this black lady from her hometown that kept telling her she was praying for her and that she needed to give her life over to the Lord. I wondered if God had miraculously just picked her up and brought her back to her hometown to this lady or something.

        What you share has really educated me about how these pimps work (when I got out of the Navy I used to drive Yellow Cab at night and on occasion used to get fares where I’d see these pimps go to their girls and beat them for not making enough money. It sickened me, but not being a Christian then, I didn’t know what to do. I hated them so much I got together with my brother (who had gotten out of the Marines) and shared my plans with him how I’d like to start killing these pimps when I got them in my cab. He agreed to join me of ridding the earth of the scum. Can you believe I thought i could actually get away with it?) Anyway, thankfully, for some reason (God), I ended up quitting that job and hitchhiking to Kansas for a trucking job. I actually got away from a lot of bad stuff that was happening in my life at that time. Hung around with the wrong kind of people that would have probably landed me in jail.

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