Second-hand Trauma...
You may NOT have received horrible abuse (thank God if that’s true), but if you were close to it like I was, its effects run deep.
I can assure you, second-hand trauma ain’t fun either.
However, trauma is trauma, and it’s not a competitive sport, so please, let’s not compare. If you’re still suffering from unhealed wounds, that’s all that matters.
Most perpetrators know, at some level, that to destroy YOU is to destroy the Kingdom of God in you. To destroy your authentic, God-created, Holy Spirit-filled self is to destroy God’s kingdom.
If you have trauma-induced (there’s no other kind) Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), you’re keenly aware of how the “Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence” and that “the violent take it by force,” as Jesus said in Matthew 11:12.
Below is an instance of how a battle was waged within me when I experienced second-hand trauma at the age of thirteen. Perhaps you can relate.
I deleted this scene from my upcoming book, Heartache of Promise. I’m sharing it in two parts. The conclusion will be published here next month.
Heartache of Promise is scheduled to be released for pre-buy on August 29, 2024. Pray with me that it will!
Thirteen-year-old Rose-Marie Clarke climbed into the family’s 1965 Studebaker Lark.
“When we get home,” Mom said in a rush of words, “I’ll need you to help fix supper. JoAnne can help too. Without glancing over, she drove away from Rose-Marie’s drill team practice.
Rose-Marie slipped off her white gloves and unbuckled her helmet. “I guess Uncle Rector is there?”
“No, he’s not coming from California until tomorrow, but your sister is home from Faith Academy, and Daddy will get in from work on time tonight. I want to have supper ready.”
Mom’s familiar tone was filled with the underlying tinge of anxiety that emerged whenever she tried to please Dad.
Rose-Marie’s chest tightened as if her body could prevent a transfer of Mom’s angst.
They rode in silence, but when they arrived home, an unfamiliar car was parked outside.
A twinge of concern slid through Rose-Rose-Marie. She glanced at Mom. “Whose here?”
Mom’s face crunched into a frown. “Don’t know. Maybe Uncle Rector arrived early.”
Mom disappeared inside before Rose-Marie could gather her things. With arms loaded, Rose-Marie stepped out of the car.
Two men walked around the back corner of the house.
What were they doing back there? Did they just come out of her and her sister’s bedroom’s private, sliding door? Surely not.
The men strode through the carport. Ah, yes. They were Dad’s friends—a father and his adult son.
Rose-Marie forced a smile. “Mom is in the house if you want to see her.”
Both men brushed past her. “We’re just leaving,” the older one said without a glance.
The knot in her chest hardened. Ignoring it, she opened the front door. Mom stepped aside. Uncle Rector sat on the sofa, talking with a voice that sounded like wet gravel.
“You can tell Fred he doesn’t need to worry about the money he owes me. It’s taken care of.”
“What?” Mom shook her head,
“Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.” Uncle Rector flapped his hand, thick fingers drooping. His sloppy lips formed a leer. “Hey, Rosey! How you doing, Girlie?”
“Fine.” Rose-Marie gave a bare nod but avoided the eyes of Dad’s brother—her childhood Tickle Man. She headed down the hall.
“Goodness, Rector,” Mom’s voice trailed from behind her. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. Well, I’m glad you made it safe. Fred should be home from work any minute.”
Rose-Marie opened her bedroom door. At the sight of her sister, her fingers flew to her lips…
Even if your trauma was “only” second-hand, it may still be kicking you around and dictating the way you relate and love. Once you recognize the HURT, you can begin to HEAL with HOPE.
Jesus says, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they [that’s you and me] might have life and have it abundantly.” John 10:10
That’s a promise I intend to claim!
0 Comments