The value of a life lived unafraid

My child called me today, shocked and upset at realizing that her personal space had been violated when someone came into her apartment while she was asleep and stole her wallet. It unnerves her to know that she does not know who possesses personal information as well as sentimental articles.

After she called, it was difficult to think of much else, knowing that she is hurting and anxious. She's 800 miles away from me, or I probably would have gone running to her when she first called. I wanted to hold her and assure her that it would be okay. I used words instead of my arms and I did everything I could to help her negotiate the experience, i.e. telling her who all to call, calling to cancel the gasoline cards of ours that she uses, etc. Later, even while I was working with students, I could feel anger at the burglar rising. How dare he violate my child's space? How dare he (or she) enter my daughter's home and frighten her by doing so?

My daughter is strong. She has already pulled herself together. She didn't need mama to come running to fix it. This is AWESOME. I was not nearly the woman she is at age 23. That said, my protective tigress-claws are still out, and it may take a day or so for them to retract. Daniel was more frightened for her than anything else. His reaction, as usual, (thank God), is more emotionally balanced and practical than mine. (It's probably part of what keeps me as sane as I get.) I wanted blood. Still do. Should I ever find out who did this, I will do everything within the law to ruin his life. I believe the phrase I used earlier was "I will f*ck every corner of your life," in my imaginary letter to the piece of human shit who went into my daughter's home and stole from her while she was asleep.

Sometimes I shock myself at the intensity of the love and protectiveness I feel for my children. I don't know if it's a reaction to not being protected as a child. I don't know if women who grew up in non-traumatic situations feel this way--I mean, not that they don't feel tigress-y when it comes to their kids, but I have this churning inside that, were it to come out as a sound, it would be an all-encompassing roar. Like, have you ever seen "Dogma"? When Alanis Morrisette as "God" roars? Like that.

Seen as a color, this intensity would be the deepest red, a passionate purple, nearly black.

When it comes to my children being violated in any way, I feel an unapologetic thirst for vengeance and resolution that I don't feel the slightest hesitation about. I know there are people who pray for their enemies. I'm not one of them. I shed that credo somewhere between Texas and Alaska on a figurative trip I took through recovery. [When I first began therapy, my therapist told me that recovery from childhood sexual abuse is like a barefoot journey from Texas to Alaska and back, with all weather along the way. He was right.]

I feel no urge to ponder the WHY behind bad people's actions. Doesn't matter. That's an improvement, because I used to spend hours and hours asking myself "WHY?" victimizers do what they do. Then I learned to let that go.

I don't care what the burglar's situation is, or whatever justification he may have for doing what he did. I don't give a shit. I haven't met him and may never meet him, but I hate him for shaking my daughter's certainty of her safety in her personal space. I lived for years without a sense of security. I know how priceless it is to achieve it.

I am not one of those people who feels the need to forgive people who hurt me or mine. I feel no religious obligation to extend mercy or grace, and I'd never encourage my children to feel as if they have to do it, either. If merciful feelings well up in me at some point, it won't be out of a sense of duty to have it. I don't even think I'm capable of that kind of inauthenticity any more.

I suspect that this cynicism when it comes to a duty to forgive comes from repeatedly "forgiving" my perpetrator only to have him violate me again and again. I suppose I emerged from six years of therapy having washed away artificial, obligatory forgiveness inspired by guilt and the belief that without it I couldn't enter Heaven.

I gave myself permission to question the beliefs I'd been raised with, not only in church, but within my family of origin, where I was told that if I hated someone, that meant that I wished death on them, and not only that, but by wishing death on them, I could actually CAUSE it to happen. Talk about guilting a kid, huh? Imagine how that sets a kid up to feel responsible for bad things, like I had some kind of über-power to make bad things happen. Jeez.

When I learned that my anger was nothing to be ashamed of, and that it was also okay to question authority-- ALL OF IT-- what grew in its stead was a fierceness and certainty of my right NOT to forgive, and not feel guilty about it, and the certainty that a loving God would not ask me to sacrifice myself (or my children) on His altar. I grew to believe that I did not have to be sacrificed on the altar of excuses for other people's wretched behavior, either.

I learned that trust has a prepositional phrase and must be earned, not given. I began to break the cycle of women as victims and excuse-makers for bad behavior and poor choices on the part of those with the perceived power.

Raising our children, my husband and my primary goal was that they would grow up with a sense of being loved unconditonally; unafraid; self-confident; and they would know that they were capable of achieving their goals. We wanted them to know that they could go out into the world and they would be okay, always landing on their feet. That's our family motto: "We're Fehlbaums. We land on our feet. It's what we DO."

Someday, I hope that my descendents will be amazed that there were EVER victims of abuse in our family or that there were EVER women who made excuses for, let's be blunt, shit heads.

There's a lot I don't know about how other moms react to things like this, but I do know this: if I prayed, I'd ask that my child remain safe and find peace within herself again. Learn what she can from the experience she's having but recover from it and once again feel secure in her surroundings.

Most of all, I'd ask that she not be afraid, because to live a life free of fear is truly living indeed.