Don't Go It Alone I remember nothing about the flight except for the letter I'd penned to my two small children about the sudden turn of events in our lives.  Maybe someday they would want to read my thoughts.  Tucking pen and paper into my carry-on luggage, I walked off the airplane and into the arms of my dad and mom and two small children. It was a bittersweet comfort. Home represented a "safe" place to heal but the fact that I was there meant I had failed. At least, that's what I believed. My family offered sanctuary, affirmation and love. It was the others who nearly destroyed me. Returning home to Colorado after Eddie's arrest (see "Ronda's Story") was a tough transition. I knew little about rape, and what I did know was laced with half-truths and preconceived notions. While I was still mom, I was no longer wife. We hadn’t asked for this, but it had been thrust upon us just the same. Many of the thought processes and roller coaster emotions I experienced were similar to those of most rape victims. The shame was overwhelming. I was fearful, angry, sad, confused. Every shadow, each shrouded face, every creak in the stillness of night was a reminder. Once our world felt safe. Now I knew. I knew that it could happen to us. I knew because it had. We were victims of my spouse’s violation, and the roller coaster of emotions we experienced was disconcerting. Intertwined with the devastation of a shattered marriage, was the self-doubt: How could I not have known about his secret life? . . What did I miss? . . . What's wrong with me? . . .Why did Eddie choose a young teenage girl to brutally rape while steadfastly ignoring me? . . .What did I do wrong? . . . Where will the children and I go from here? . . . Will we ever be whole again?" After the shock wore off, unending pain clutched me in its ragged talons. I found myself free-falling downward into a deep, dark abyss. I counted the hours before I could escape into sleep, then wished them away when the nightmares came. A minister reinforced my disgrace when he counseled, "You're like the prodigal son. You've sinned but now you've come back home." That day, in an attempt to shield my broken heart, I made a decision: No one will ever know again how much I am hurting. I took my pain, wrapped it in pretty paper, put a bow on top, then carried it to the closet of my heart. There, on tiptoe, I placed it on the top shelf, near the back, out of sight. No one would ever know what lay hidden inside. Satisfied, I shut the door, and walked away. It would be years before I would share about that experience in my life with outsiders again. Then one Sunday afternoon, while we washed the dinner dishes, I chanced to speak of my pain to a visiting minister's wife. "Ronda," she said, "You must never speak of this pain. When you do you relive it." I heard her say, "I don't want to hear it." The package was pushed further back on the shelf with each new package I added. The death of my babies, physical pain, deep depression, more rejection, spiritual abuse. With time I added lock and key to the door. One day I went to the closet to add another package. I opened the door, and to my dismay everything came tumbling out. I knew I faced a 'Y' in the road.. One way would bring me healing - but it meant being vulnerable and sharing my pain again. The other would offered certain death. In my despair and depression suicide looked like a viable option. Soon thereafter, in a providential moment, I picked up my Bible and read in Deuteronomy 30:19, "This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live." I chose life. Was it easy? No. Was it worth it? Yes. If you find yourself bowed beneath the load of your pain you, too, are faced with a 'Y' in the road. I found the following to be helpful to me: Step out of denial. Out of sight does not mean out of mind. Pretending it does not hurt, does not make it go away. You cannot bury what is not dead. One day when you least expect it, your pain will step out of the grave, "Yoo-hoo over here? Remember me?" Time does not heal pain which has been buried. Embrace the pain. Run toward it rather than away from it. Give yourself permission to grieve. Find a safe person to talk to. Perhaps a caring minister, a skilled counselor, a godly friend*. Not everyone is worthy of your confidence. One day I learned a simple principle which has offered a covering for my heart many times. It's called, "Share/Check/Share." When you choose to tell you story, share a little. Check the response. Is it affirming? Accepting? Kind? Then share a little more. If it's not, don't share any further. Ask God to direct your choice of a safe person.  He knows that we really do need each other. ©rjknuth2007 *Ongoing depression should be evaluated by a professional.   "The people who recover are the people who admit [their loss] and are able to talk about it."  Dr. H. Norman Wright "[Grief] is not just something you work through on your own. Most people need outside help because the thing that accomplishes the resolution here is talking to somebody. . . . You can accomplish some things on your own . . . but the group [a grief support group] will be beneficial. And it is specific work." Dr. Jim Conway "Grieving means that you talk about what you're going through in the presence of some other people and let them react to you." Dr. Jim Conway Strength for Today:  Proverbs 20:5; Isaiah 46:4;  Proverbs 12:18 Share With a Safe Friend