Parental Wounds Part 1 (Day 28)

We all have them. Sometimes we brush them off—most of the time we suppress them. And without realizing it- we use them as a crutch.  “Parental wounds” Oh, and you do have them; it doesn’t matter if you had award winning parents or dead-beat “role models.” UNLESS you are Jesus Christ- you have them. And guess what? Your kids will have parental wounds as well. It is because we as humans are not perfect- we are fallen creatures.  We intentionally and unintentionally hurt people- especially the people who look up to us the most. We have parental wounds because our hearts yearn for the perfect parent, but the perfect parents can only be found in God the Father, and in the Virgin Mary. Christ is the only one with perfect parents. Typically, we do not realize our parents’ imperfections until later in life- until we are hurt and confused. We spend the rest of our adolescent years trying to figure it all out- the resentment builds and we try finding what’s missing in other worldly things. Often that’s where pornography steps in. We are trying to heal the parental wounds with what we think, will sooth them. But anything other than God, makes the wounds fester. Saint Augustine is famous for saying, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” Chesterton put it another way, “Every man who knocks on the door of a brothel is looking for God.” We are all looking for answers, pleasure, comfort, peace. But all the world offers is salt water for thirsty hearts: the more you drink, the more you thirst. In the end you are unhappy and spiritually dehydrated.  We have to face our parental wounds in order to beat porn addiction. Pornography dependence was initially a byproduct of some other problem. We have to look back at our life and ask “what,” but never “why.”

 Looking back, I have found myself asking “why” many times in my own life. The first time I can really account noticing my parental wounds was when I was nine years old. It was the first time that I had ever tried out for little league baseball.  I remember how beautiful the day was. The sun was so bright that I had to squint constantly- which really didn’t help me to catch many fly balls. As I was trying out, I heard uproars of encouragement, from all the other boys’ fathers. And I thought to myself, “It must be neat to have a dad.” That day only got worse when they announced coaches, and I found out who my coach was going to be. That day I had the pleasure of finding out that my motherwas going to be the first ever boys baseball coach in the city where I lived. Really? My Mom? Coach? My world was crumbling around me. I was so embarrassed that I went home and went straight to bed crying. I sobbingly asked God, “Why are you doing this to me? First no Dad, and now this?” I felt so dysfunctional. But to my surprise, my world did not end that baseball season. It actually was a lot of fun and our team won first place. Looking back, I am amazed at my mother’s actions. I didn’t understand them as I child, but my mother was trying to be the father I didn’t have. I can’t imagine the amount of guts it took for her to decide to coach that year. I can’t imagine the amount of guts it took my mother to wake up every day and work two jobs to support her only son.

My mother seriously injured her back soon after that baseball season. Her zeal for supporting me caused her near paralysis. That year she underwent multiple surgeries and found out that she could never work again.  Our life went from normally dysfunctional to uncertain poverty. I had to grow up a lot that year. I went from thinking about baseball to thinking about things a little boy shouldn’t be been thinking about: where we were going to live, what we were going to eat, and how we were going to pay bills? My mother fell into a state of depression and soon was hooked on pain killers and antidepressants. We bounced around from house to house, from family member to family member. I remember one night specifically, the eve of my cousins wedding. We were staying with distant family. That night a family member asked if I wished to come to his room and talk about the civil war. With haste I agreed. I loved hearing him talk about history. He was one of the only male figures I had, and his stories memorized me. But that night, I didn’t learn about the battle of Gettysburg- I was molested. That night I learned what it truly felt like to be helpless. What it truly felt like to be betrayed by a loved one.  I’ve blocked most of the uneventful night out of my memory. But I do remember how cold and stale the air smelt, and how numb I felt inside. I cried that night knowing that I couldn’t ever tell anyone what happened to me. I remember thinking, “Where were you God?”

Part 2 coming tomorrow.

PRAY:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful worldas it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things rightif I surrender to His Will;That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with HimForever in the next.
Amen.