Surviving the Holidays,Part 1 of 4: The Safety of Your Own Nest

I’ve been trying to figure out what it is about the holiday season that triggers my anxiety, shame and pain.

The answer came one morning last week.

As my dog pulled me toward the house after her backyard stroll, I looked at the leaf-barren trees hugging the house and saw them: nests. Hidden and protected by the flourishing green of summer, I never knew they existed. But now, stripped of their protection, they weren’t only visible, they were eye-catching targets for any predator, even those with bad eyesight.

Holidays meant traveling over the river and through the woods to dine and smile and feign contentment in the presence of–and at the tables of–abusers.

As E. Sue Blume writes, “Incest sacrifices trust. How can you trust when you expect anyone you care about to rape you one way or another? The incest victim has no consistency. Only broken promises . . . She is reluctant to let down her guard to begin with, for behind acts of caring lie monsters with big claws and razor teeth and mouths that suck her dry. Acts of kindness scare her.” E. Sue Blume, Secret Survivors

At extended family gatherings, I was a forced player on a stage upon which all of us were better actors and actresses than any red carpet has beheld. Colored lights and candy canes were decorative distractions. Yuletide carols and silver bells disguised the villain called Abuse, who stalked us backstage like an opera phantom, making sure no one broke character. In such families, protecting The Secret is always more important than the truth. So for decades, I smiled at the monsters. I held the clawed hands. I smiled back at the razor teeth.

But underneath it all, I was scared. Sucked dry. Shivering like a bird in those exposed nests, with nothing but hard, barren branches to cling to.

No wonder the holidays hurt. No wonder I felt tremendous relief when my husband and I started saying no to other people’s traditions and started forming our own. Home has always been my safe place. And safe places are crucial moors for survivors, beaten down by the winds and storms of abuse.

If you are a survivor of abuse or any sort of betrayal, this is what you need to know this holiday season:

It is okay to protect yourself.

It’s okay to say no to old traditions that leave you feeling raw, wigged out and berserk.

It’s ok to start new traditions that break cycles and create true joy for you and future generations.

Friends and family might not understand it at first. They may not understand it, ever. But you have the right to seek freedom and joy . . .

. . . and safety.

I’m learning to find it in my own home, with my husband and children. I’m learning–when the shaky, unsteady feelings of PTSD threaten and overwhelm–to turn to God. One of my favorite verses is Psalm 63:7-8: “Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”

When the leaves of summer fall, the wings of Christ envelop me. I cling to Him. His right hand upholds me.

Silver bells ring out new songs of peace . . .

. . . and strength . . .

. . . and truth.

As Thea Kronborg, the main character in The Song of the Lark learned, truth is not something easy to grasp or obtain. Yet once it seeps into your life, you can find your voice. And like the Mourning Doves which greet us every morning, you too can sing like you were always meant to sing.

“. . . growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is. That afternoon, nothing new came to Thea Kronborg, no enlightenment, no inspiration. She merely came into full possession of things she had been refining and perfecting for so long. Her inhibitions chanced to be fewer than usual, and, within herself, she entered into the inheritance that she herself had laid up, into the fullness of the faith she had kept before she knew its name or meaning.” ~~Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark