Series: Battles of the Heart
Nails painted black
tilt her hat seductively
towards a flawless nose.
Bottles clink and chime
as she impulsively,
compulsively,
treacherously
drinks and drinks.
Bruises line the green and purple veins
that are the latitude and longitude lines
of her snowy white arms,
mapping out her existence
and appearing as deadly
as the coordinates of the
Bermuda Triangle.
She gulps down contempt
and shoots up apathy.
She spits out bitterness
with every word she speaks
because her mind is full of it.
Her eyes drink it in,
not willingly, as some,
but because other options
are cruelly elusive.
And when her cold eyes
stare at the mirror,
she sees a fusion
of her mother and dad,
older sister and cousin,
fourth-grade softball coach,
boyfriend from freshman year.
And she stares in the mirror
and sees them swirl in a downward spiral,
colors morphing and merging,
twirling towards her pupils
that are as black as
self-loathing.
I wrote that poem. Writing it was a transcendent experience--one of those things that just flowed from my pen and, when I went back and read it, that is what it said. Which means that every word of it came straight from my subconscious and that which is buried deep within my heart.
I’m not that girl, but there are aspects of her that I see when I look in the mirror. There are images from my past that haunt me, not necessarily things that I’ve done, but things that I’ve experienced. Some of these experiences were a result of the way I felt like I was treated by the church, by those who scorn the church, and the person who I chose to be.
Sometimes, though I’ve escaped the situations that produced these memories, they still affect how I handle things now, how I react to simple comments, how I view the church, how I respond to anger and fear, and how I view my worth as a human being. It began as hurt, then slowly morphed into anger and resentment, then transformed into bitterness.
The hurt turned into anger because I didn’t let the wounds heal. I let them fester, so I felt a sting each time the wounds were reopened by a thoughtless remark, snide comment, or malicious intention. I was too young to understand how I should go about allowing these wounds to air out and heal, so I hid them. I found no place for release and grew weary of nursing old wounds, so I chose an alternate emotion to replace the redundancy of the pain. Anger.
The anger turned into bitterness because I bottled it up. I felt angry at the people who hurt me, my family, or other people who I loved, and I hid the anger from everyone. I didn’t feel like it was an appropriate emotion to express. Anger seems so rash, illogical, and unrighteous, so I kept it inside. The churning of my stomach, the dizziness in my head, and the aching of my heart made me realize that anger was not an emotion that I could maintain and act out of for long. Because I chose to repress it, it changed into yet another, and more deadly, emotion. Bitterness.
Sound familiar? Or maybe it doesn’t. I view bitterness as the aftermath of something. Some people may not realize that bitterness comes from a thing of the past, from another emotion, or from, simply, the way that life has progressed. Some people don’t recognize bitterness at all. It is one of Satan’s greatest ploys because it is, often, unrecognizable.
Even more dangerously, it can be something that we desperately want to hold onto, for fear of giving it up and allowing healing to begin. Sometimes, I want to dwell in my bitterness because it is familiar. It is a feeling that I have known for years. I know how to function in the midst of bitterness. I’m well-practiced. But functioning from a place of wholeness? That is something that I haven’t known how to do for a long time.
Coming out of bitterness is uncomfortable. I haven’t even quite figured out the proper way to do it. I am getting to the point where I allow myself to express hurt and anger and work through it as it comes, instead of stuffing it deeper into myself and saving it for later. When I recognize it in its beginning stages--hurt, anger, fear, insecurities, injustice, etc.--it is easier to prevent bitterness from ensuing at all. See the girl in the poem? She sees her past when she looks in the mirror. And she views it from the perspective of one who has chosen to loathe herself as a result. Bitterness skews the way that we perceive the world. When I know my perspective is skewed, I turn to prayer, the Word, confession, or even moments of release in which I rage and cry and scream. Allowing myself to acknowledge the incongruity of my perspective helps me to see where it needs to change.
The book of Hebrews says, “Pursue peace with everyone, and holiness--without it no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no root of bitterness springs up, causing trouble and by it, defiling many” (Hebrews 12:14-15). When our vision is marred by bitterness, we cannot see the Lord. When we are bitter, we lack peace. When we are bitter, we are not whole. When we dwell in bitterness, we reject the grace that God offers. Knowing that His grace is sufficient, it is my desire to dwell in that and to leave bitterness behind.
Father,
Though healing often hurts, teach us to choose this healthy pain over the pain of all-encompassing bitterness. Speak truth to our hearts, reminding us that your grace is sufficient and that because You offer it freely, we are not slaves to our own bitterness. Thank you for being our Healer. We love you and thank you for the ways that we can learn and grow, even in the midst of internal struggle.
Amen
Erin Daugherty
Abilene Christian University
Nails painted black
tilt her hat seductively
towards a flawless nose.
Bottles clink and chime
as she impulsively,
compulsively,
treacherously
drinks and drinks.
Bruises line the green and purple veins
that are the latitude and longitude lines
of her snowy white arms,
mapping out her existence
and appearing as deadly
as the coordinates of the
Bermuda Triangle.
She gulps down contempt
and shoots up apathy.
She spits out bitterness
with every word she speaks
because her mind is full of it.
Her eyes drink it in,
not willingly, as some,
but because other options
are cruelly elusive.
And when her cold eyes
stare at the mirror,
she sees a fusion
of her mother and dad,
older sister and cousin,
fourth-grade softball coach,
boyfriend from freshman year.
And she stares in the mirror
and sees them swirl in a downward spiral,
colors morphing and merging,
twirling towards her pupils
that are as black as
self-loathing.
I wrote that poem. Writing it was a transcendent experience--one of those things that just flowed from my pen and, when I went back and read it, that is what it said. Which means that every word of it came straight from my subconscious and that which is buried deep within my heart.
I’m not that girl, but there are aspects of her that I see when I look in the mirror. There are images from my past that haunt me, not necessarily things that I’ve done, but things that I’ve experienced. Some of these experiences were a result of the way I felt like I was treated by the church, by those who scorn the church, and the person who I chose to be.
Sometimes, though I’ve escaped the situations that produced these memories, they still affect how I handle things now, how I react to simple comments, how I view the church, how I respond to anger and fear, and how I view my worth as a human being. It began as hurt, then slowly morphed into anger and resentment, then transformed into bitterness.
The hurt turned into anger because I didn’t let the wounds heal. I let them fester, so I felt a sting each time the wounds were reopened by a thoughtless remark, snide comment, or malicious intention. I was too young to understand how I should go about allowing these wounds to air out and heal, so I hid them. I found no place for release and grew weary of nursing old wounds, so I chose an alternate emotion to replace the redundancy of the pain. Anger.
The anger turned into bitterness because I bottled it up. I felt angry at the people who hurt me, my family, or other people who I loved, and I hid the anger from everyone. I didn’t feel like it was an appropriate emotion to express. Anger seems so rash, illogical, and unrighteous, so I kept it inside. The churning of my stomach, the dizziness in my head, and the aching of my heart made me realize that anger was not an emotion that I could maintain and act out of for long. Because I chose to repress it, it changed into yet another, and more deadly, emotion. Bitterness.
Sound familiar? Or maybe it doesn’t. I view bitterness as the aftermath of something. Some people may not realize that bitterness comes from a thing of the past, from another emotion, or from, simply, the way that life has progressed. Some people don’t recognize bitterness at all. It is one of Satan’s greatest ploys because it is, often, unrecognizable.
Even more dangerously, it can be something that we desperately want to hold onto, for fear of giving it up and allowing healing to begin. Sometimes, I want to dwell in my bitterness because it is familiar. It is a feeling that I have known for years. I know how to function in the midst of bitterness. I’m well-practiced. But functioning from a place of wholeness? That is something that I haven’t known how to do for a long time.
Coming out of bitterness is uncomfortable. I haven’t even quite figured out the proper way to do it. I am getting to the point where I allow myself to express hurt and anger and work through it as it comes, instead of stuffing it deeper into myself and saving it for later. When I recognize it in its beginning stages--hurt, anger, fear, insecurities, injustice, etc.--it is easier to prevent bitterness from ensuing at all. See the girl in the poem? She sees her past when she looks in the mirror. And she views it from the perspective of one who has chosen to loathe herself as a result. Bitterness skews the way that we perceive the world. When I know my perspective is skewed, I turn to prayer, the Word, confession, or even moments of release in which I rage and cry and scream. Allowing myself to acknowledge the incongruity of my perspective helps me to see where it needs to change.
The book of Hebrews says, “Pursue peace with everyone, and holiness--without it no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no root of bitterness springs up, causing trouble and by it, defiling many” (Hebrews 12:14-15). When our vision is marred by bitterness, we cannot see the Lord. When we are bitter, we lack peace. When we are bitter, we are not whole. When we dwell in bitterness, we reject the grace that God offers. Knowing that His grace is sufficient, it is my desire to dwell in that and to leave bitterness behind.
Father,
Though healing often hurts, teach us to choose this healthy pain over the pain of all-encompassing bitterness. Speak truth to our hearts, reminding us that your grace is sufficient and that because You offer it freely, we are not slaves to our own bitterness. Thank you for being our Healer. We love you and thank you for the ways that we can learn and grow, even in the midst of internal struggle.
Amen
Erin Daugherty
Abilene Christian University
What a powerful article. Thanks for sharing your heart. Ministered to me in some really special ways today. I needed this. Keep writing! You have a real gift for this.
ReplyDeleteI have been struggling with bitterness for a longtime. Although our stories are different, your words pointed me to some common ground we share and more importantly, where I need to let God take me. Thank you for "laying it out there" in such a candid but encouraging way. God's richest blessings on you girl.
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