You’re reading a God–Sized Dreams post. Each Tuesday, a team of God-sized dreamers writes on the progress of their dreams, spurred by the wisdom in Holley Gerth’s new book, You’re Made for a God-Sized Dream: Opening the Door to All God Has for You. For all my posts in this series, please click here. This week, Holley asked three questions about the tougher aspects of dreaming. My answers are below.
(Trigger warning: childhood sexual abuse)
What part of your dream feels the riskiest?
My dream is risky for 2 main reasons.
First, it is risky to tell people what my dream is about. Who really wants to hear about, or read about, childhood sexual abuse?
I still have trouble typing these words, especially that little, but necessary, trigger warning at the opening of these posts.
But, maybe you want to read about healing. Maybe it’s worth it to ingest the difficult to get to the light that’s pouring into the ugly.
Second, my dream is risky because I have family members who don’t want me talking about it. They absolutely would not want me writing about it.
Also, I have loving and gracious family members who support me—who I desperately fear I will hurt in working through this process. Even though I know healing comes from shining light on the darkness, bringing the wounds to the surface…it’s hard to know it will be difficult for others too.
Have you ever had people misunderstand or disagree with your dream?
I have been very blessed that those people who have communicated directly with me about my dream have done so in respectful and supportive ways.
What do you do when your dream is scary or when others don’t support you?
It slices deep when others are silent. Aside from the emotional pain, work of healing, and the risks, it’s the silence that hurts the most.
When those dear to me know about my dream and don’t ever mention it or ask about it…it hurts.
When they ask the not-really-meant “How are you?” expecting the pat “fine,” and nothing more…it hurts.
When those whom I expect to support me don’t show up…it hurts.
And yet, I understand.
If you don’t know if it’s okay to ask about a painful or difficult situation, I understand. But ask. It shows that you care and are invested.
If it makes you feel uncomfortable and you’re afraid, I understand.
If you’re swamped with your own struggles, I understand.
If I placed unrealistic expectations on you, I’m sorry. And I understand.
So what do I do with all this?
I try to hold fast to my belief that God’s ways are not my ways, that who I think I need may not be who He thinks I need.
I try to remember that God is faithful and that He wants my healing. He will provide the person on whom He wants me to lean.
I reach out to those whom He has given me to lean on in the past, those who have promised to support me on this journey.
And sometimes I react badly. I cry. I shut down for awhile. I seethe with anger.
Eventually, I come around and remember that it’s not worth it to stay in that place.
And mostly, I just keep going.
The times when I wanted people to support me and they haven’t, God truly has provided beyond my expectations. And He’s taught me this: the core of my healing comes from embracing His love for me. That’s where my identity is–not in the people by whom I feel disappointed and rejected… If I lived like I believe He loves me…can you imagine?
For any thoughts, prayers, comments, phone calls…for any way that you have reached out to me on this journey, thank you. Those two small words cannot hold the whole of the appreciation and love I have for you–every one of you.
If you have continued to read my words on this hard topic of abuse, you are amazing. You are brave and loving. Just…thank you.
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