When Victim Called My Mind Her Home

[Daddy Disclaimer]

There was a knock on the door. Opening it a crack, I saw Victim standing before me, beckoning me with her alluring ability to place blame elsewhere. I swung the door wide open and welcomed her as an old friend.

“Would you care for tea, dear Victim? Or maybe a warm scone instead?” I invited her to the coziest chair of my house.

“Tea would be perfect, my dear. But first, let’s discuss this father of yours,” came the haughty reply of my new guest. “A bit of a letdown isn’t he?” Victim began, watching me closely. “Or maybe disappointment is more appropriate? How about absentee, heart-breaker, aloof, addict, selfish ….” she suggested. My increasingly enthusiastic nods and budding righteous anger only fanning the flame of my indignant friend.

“Yes, yes…” she continued. “It is worse than I thought. You have not realized the fullness of your undeserved pain, little one.  You have not recognized what has been stolen from you – youth, security, innocence, happiness.” She sighed a weary, pitying sigh. Then Victim rose regally from her chair, walked to the foyer and gestured to a large suitcase sitting unnoticed by the front door.

“Please, dear, would you show me to my room?” Victim said sweetly as she started towards the stairs. I rushed to carry her heavy load and followed her as she led the way to my bedroom. Never questioning her right to be there, I swiftly filled my arms with my belongings and settled into the sparse, spare bedroom down the hall.

“Oh, and I’ll take my tea while I bathe!” she rang out. I watched her cross to the master bathroom wrapped in my robe.

Victim had moved in. And it appeared she planned to stay awhile. 

---

Don't worry. I'm not ending the story there. But this was a reality in my life for a long, long time. When you're handed a trial and not given the choice to "opt out," it's incredibly easy to begin taking on this victim persona. And I played right into her hands for too many years. 

Through God's goodness, I discovered who Victim really was and what I had let her do to me. And I decided to reclaim my master bedroom (because that bed is just TOO good to give up to anyone).

So, I fought and I dug and I yelled and I kicked and I punched and I sobbed and I prayed. Oh, how I prayed…

Until I made my way out of the trenches that Victim had meticulously buried me in.

And I wanted healing. And new life. And hope. I wanted those things more than I wanted to fill my lungs with breath.

But then I looked down over me and was horrified to find the shell that was left. 

(Don't worry, the story doesn't end there either).