dysfunctional families and hopeful endings

“Don’t come to my funeral when I’m dead.”

“I’m going to just kill myself right here.”

“No one cares about me.”

“You’ll all be happy when I’m gone.”

I don’t have much experience with healthy conflict. Growing up, and honestly even now, my family really struggled with speaking. No one shared their feelings. And by the time anyone did, too much damage had been done. And so, yes, casual talks of worthlessness and self-harm and apathy were not rare for us. 

But I get it. As harmful, and manipulative, those words are to hear- they got results. The speaker often received the attention they were reaching for. Because that’s what it was about. Attention. We felt unseen, unheard. And, not recognizing the future influence of our words, we’d speak sharp things to make some impact on the ears of the listener. Which, again, it works. But it comes at a cost that none of us fully realized we were making.

It’s tragic, honestly. And also deeply ironic. 

In not knowing how to communicate our wanting of emotional safety and trust, we lost the very thing we were seeking. 

Once, after a fight with my mother, I decided I’d never forgive her. In that moment, I felt my heart close off entirely. Have you ever been so angry that you didn’t even want to want to forgive someone? To be so lost in your pain, you convince yourself that you’d be perfectly content burning an entire bridge- a city, even. 

Thankfully, I believe in Redemption. Not just any kind but the hurried kind of Redemption that doesn’t wait for me- that doesn’t even consider my successes or shortcomings. The Redemption that, in spite of me, brings all things back to original wholeness. 

This is the truth I tell myself. This is the truth that is proved in reconciled relationship with my mother. That every life and situation and relationship and created other is being guided to healing in gentle, gracious love.

The bridge pieces itself together. 

The ashes from the fire are brought back to life once more.