Déjà Vu

14 days. That’s how long we have been isolated. 14 days and it feels like years. I am a person who straddles the line between introvert and extrovert. I very much value my alone time, but I also need people. As a homeschooling, stay-at-home mom, you’d think this self distancing thing wouldn’t be a huge adjustment since I am used to being at home with all of my kids and I genuinely enjoy being home. However, something happened emotionally and mentally when the option to leave my home wasn’t available any more. Suddenly, instead of feeling “at home” in my favorite place, I felt trapped. I felt stifled and like I couldn’t breathe. And then my emotions started to take a nose dive into a darker place. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. Rage. Grief. Helplessness. They came in waves. Irrationally larger and more intense responses than the circumstances warranted. But I have learned over the last decade that these descents are rarely what they seem. So, I started digging for the root.

I am still surprised it took me as long as it did to make the connection. Well over a week. Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe it means that time has finally produced enough distance and enough healing has taken place that it doesn’t spring to mind daily anymore. Whatever the reason, I realized this whole COVID-19 situation has been triggering for me. Because isolation and social distancing isn’t new for me – I have been here before. I lived it for over 3 long years. But I’d forgotten. Forgotten how it felt. Left the memories in the past. And for the most part, they have gathered dust quite peacefully.

I lived in forced isolation, starting when I was 16, systematically cut off from friends and family, church, even the public. Voiceless, powerless and subject to the absolute authority and whims of my step father. It became progressively worse, until after my mother’s passing when I was 17, we moved to an acreage property. More remote. More isolated. And then it was just me, my sister, and my step father – when he was home. Fear, manipulation, carefully crafted mind games about unseen dangers, and the threat of violence or death to myself or those I cared about hung over my head every day. Phone calls and mail were carefully monitored. I didn’t leave our house without my step father’s permission and company. And on the rare occasions that we did go out, my interactions with strangers – at the supermarket, video rental store, or even the doctor’s office – were constantly watched. My words and actions at every turn were measured. A careless comment or anything deemed something that “attracted attention” could incite a lecture on the ever present threat to our safety or a “tightening of the reins” of the small freedoms I did have. Even my clothing was subject to scrutiny and approval. After a while, though we lived in a remote location on a fairly large property, I didn’t even go outside unless I had to.

The internet was “new” and had not yet moved into our house. The closest thing I had to connection to the outside world was satellite tv and the occasional newspaper. There was no cell phone, or social networking apps, or Messenger. None of the beautiful ways that people have been finding to stay connected and share their lives with each other now were available to me. I didn’t even have the benefit of going to the library. I had the small collection of books I had amassed over my childhood and early teen years, and some of my mother’s books to read. Because my sister and I are total opposites when it comes to the clock – she’s the extreme night owl, I’m the early riser – it meant that for hours of every day, I was completely alone.

It meant there were seasons of way too much tv. Some shows I watched on rerun because the characters became familiar friends. Then there were the seasons of dark depression. The wanting it all to end. The endless numbness that would go on for days as the monotony of mundane necessary tasks stretched interminably out in front of me. I thought things might improve when I turned 18. After all, I was an adult, right? But nothing changed. I only felt more trapped because by then, I was so firmly entrenched in the lies and deceit drilled into me for years, that I didn’t even know what was true anymore. Didn’t know what was safe. I felt abandoned. But as with the Hebrew children in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3), there was Another in the fire.

A friend recently reminded me that God works good of the things we surrender, no matter how hideous they may have been. I have learned this to be true. And so, in the midst of that very dark and lonely time, I turned for solace to the only One Who was constant. The only One I could talk to about my fears and my pain without reproach. And my pursuit of Jesus began in earnest. I began to spend hours in prayer and buried myself in Scripture, devouring it, page after page. And as I did, my faith began to grow. I began to listen for answers to my prayers and hear the voice of God in a powerful way. I began to sense His Presence near, especially in the darkest moments. Hope blossomed and a dream began to take shape.

At 19, I finally gathered the courage to ask for “permission” to leave home to attend a 10 month discipleship program that I had learned about. It was based in another province. To my shock and utter amazement, permission was granted! Through what can only have been Divine provision, funds and means materialized in a very short period of time and for the first time, I went out “into the world” on my own. Far from home. Far from anything of familiarity. Far from the sister I loved. But not alone. I went hand in hand with Jesus. Seeing the world with new eyes and marveling at its wonders.

It would be not be until years later that the lies would be uncovered and the web of concocted “truths” laid bare for what they really were – a carefully constructed smoke screen to hide the abuse that took place behind closed doors. The isolation supposedly for our safety, was nothing more than an exertion of power and control on the innocent and vulnerable. The first time I watched Disney’s Tangled, I remember thinking, “That was my life!” Those days were almost 20 years ago now. They changed my life and shaped who I have become. The foundation of faith that was laid in that desert is what helped to carry me through the aftermath of the trauma those years contained. And what has been built on that foundation since then is what will carry me through this one too.

I share my story because I know that this time of isolation and physical distance can be scary and lonely. I know it can be overwhelming and feel like it won’t ever be over. Like you can’t possibly make it through another long day with no end in sight. Before I began this reflection, I was starting to feel the same way. Anxiety and grief warring constantly in my head. But then I remembered. And now I am struck by the Grace and Faithfulness of God. And while I may still feel the sadness and the grief over the missing things, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the blessings that I have. Because this time, I am one of many facing the same things. This time, no one has taken my voice or my choices from me. This time the decision to isolate is one I make myself, one made out of love and not fear. This time, I can look around and celebrate the myriad of little gifts that are available to us each day. The little things that keep us connected, even while we are apart.

I want to encourage you to do the same. See the good. Draw strength from Jesus – His strength never wanes.

Draw peace from His Word – it stands True forever.

Draw hope from the community around you – the one made up of people you know and the rapidly expanding one of strangers who are connecting digitally from places all over the globe. And don’t forget to reach out to others, so that no one is forgotten. Let us be a light, ever expanding, one person at a time, so that no one is left alone in the dark.

There is beauty unfolding here, even in the tragedy. We are all in this together. Remembering that there is Another in the fire with us. Always with us. And when this whole thing is all over and we come together once again, I believe we will emerge to a very different world. As a people transformed. Like a butterfly, that must go through the dissolution of what was in order to become the wonder of color and flight, let us place our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our fears in these troubling times, in the Hands of the Creator. Then wait and see what Masterpiece He makes of us.

May God’s Peace and Presence rest upon you my friends.