If you have been abused, I’m so sorry. I wish I could wrap my arms around you. I would whisper in your ear …“the abuse does NOT define you…you have worth…you are precious to God…He loves you.”
I’ve been there.
I was molested as a child.
No, I don’t talk about it much. Only when I feel a prodding sense that someone might need to hear it.
A “friend” of the family took a child whose self-esteem was already dangling by a thread and violently tore it away.
Abusers don’t consider the pain they cause. They are selfish.
They don’t care that they leave a crumpled little girl struggling to understand. Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Where are my protectors?
Can you relate? Maybe your abuse came in a different form. Maybe it was actual bruises that peppered your fragile frame, or maybe the bruises hid quietly behind a shy smile that you painted on when someone started to see the angst in your eyes.
My scars were not visible but I saw them every day. Like a scab that I unconsciously picked at until it bled and I could no longer deny its reality.
It wasn’t until many years later that I learned how distorted my thinking had become.
I’d love to hear from you.