Life is scary to one who lives with shame, and what feels like the antidote, control, is actually its own prison. I know because I lived that way for many years. I had no control over my father’s anger and ultimate suicide. The confusion, fear, grief, and shame that produced in me pushed me into a desperate need to control something. I didn’t turn to food or alcohol—mine was darker and more twisted. I tried to control the love of God. For years I lived under the burden of trying to be good enough for God, but because it looked good on the outside I was never challenged by anyone. If you show
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