I just finished a college class that required I write an autobiography. We were studying "Women's Autobiographies from 1800's-2000's" and I had to model my paper after the language and rhythm one of the authors studied used.
All this to say, it may read a little strange because my chosen author was WACK! (lol) but it was an interesting approach at where I am right now in a creative writing mode.
My
Inner American
A
midlife arrival warrants some form of reflection upon the avenues of journey in
which my life has suddenly landed.
Although many events require shades so as not to dwell on the despair,
many reveal blessings and happiness. If
the events of my life can facilitate an easier way for just one person, I will
count it worth it all.
I
was born in Arlington, in Texas, in the year 1976, to Christian parents. My father’s name was Joe Bacon, he was a
Baptist preacher; my mother’s name was Phyllis.
My father was in charge of our household and my mother supported his
every move and decision whether she agreed to it or not. At an early age I realized the importance of
exemplifying a perfect life to all those interested enough to watch. I viewed my parents marriage as perfect and
magical not unlike that of Cinderella’s fairy tale yet minus the castle, money,
and fairy godmother.
All
that I longed for as puberty befell was to find a mate that would be my
prince. Maturity arrived and with it
came an urgency to achieve my dream of marriage and children. The view of this mystical world presented by
my parents created an illusion that left me wanting nothing more. Yet, when my
prince arrived there was no regal ball and quickly I realized that nothing was
as fairy tale as it appeared.
I
cried out to the God I had learned to worship from a very young age. How could I have been so wrong and believed
all to be easy and viable, became the resounding question left with no audible
answer. Muddling through the first year
of marriage and the impending birth of our first son had more bright days than
dark but the stark reality that marriage was a daily job was
disheartening. An affair brought
thunder, lightening, and torrential downpours of weeping that made my heart
feel as though it was obliterated into a million dust particles.
Intense
intervention with counseling and elders of the church brought scrutiny about a
future and God’s innate will for any proceeding years. Pressing forward through obstacles and pain,
the preceding eight years of our marriage were blissfully enjoyable. Three more children followed the first, the
purchase of a home, a dog, numerous jobs, and as happily ever after as real life
possible.
God
certainly wasn’t first although upbringing taught that he should be. Church was attended, smiles were pasted, and
a picturesque family was present at any glance. Demons arose on occasion
through alcohol or some form of disproportioned anger. But in general life was blissful. In October of 2004, just days after our 9th
wedding anniversary the doom and despair returned in the shape of a
confession. The man who I had
resurrected to wholesome father, man of God, lover of my being told me in
simple terms that he got high every single day and had for the endurance of our
time together.
An
earthquake could not have rocked my core as hard as this revelation did.
Feelings of guilt, doubt, and anger on top of question, stupidity, and
irritation flooded my soul. A
desperation for who, what, when, where, why, and what the hell were just a few
of the questions that radiated out of my anger.
Over
the next seven years there were would be additional resentments, moments of
desperation, as well as roller coasters of trusting, not, considering, and
quitting. The Satan of my world was
addiction and the Devil of the underworld played with it until it ate at my
very being. Doubts regarding my sanity
and capability rounded every corner.
Thoughts of running from all of it and ending my journey and fight
consumed my days.
At
one point I became strong and decided to fight the demon by forcing it to
realize I could be independent. I began
taking college classes with the thought of scaring the possessed into realizing
I was formulating a plan for my own future and that Satan could no longer hold
me back. Although my children and I
attended services regularly the moment the church doors closed the Holy Spirit
and its influences were left behind.
A
new child was born some six years after the fourth and with her a breath of
fresh air renewed the hearts and souls of all involved. This new spirit was so full of the love of
Jesus, His mercy and grace that all around her couldn’t help but believe in a
greater good.
Fifty
days ago my husband walked into an inpatient facility, laid his demons aside
and asked the Holy Spirit to fill him and make him the man of my Prince
Charming dreams. He began a new
spiritual journey and so did my 5 children and I. He was gone for a month and in that time we
were able to process and learn the severity of his addiction. Additionally we were able to process the
damage his choices had made and reflect upon our own accountability in support
and other personal choices.
Just
like author Elizabeth Ashbridge describes in her autobiography I no longer
tried to retain control over my own affairs but rather relinquished my
abilities into the able and willing hands of my Lord and Savior. Allowing him complete control of my families
healing, my husband’s addiction, and my anxiety has been the most freeing and
liberating experience of my life. I am
now able to freely praise Him for the riches he has bestowed upon me and trust
Him for the plan He has for my future.
With
a husband sober only fifty days, a short 5 months until the completion of my
college degree, and 5 children relying on me to provide for them tomorrow my
future may seem insecure. However, with
the Lord guiding my every step and move I believe that my eternity shines
bright and my hope will remain strong.
Oh that the promises of my childhood had not needed grooming but had
just been believed. My life might have
been a different story.
