#toomuch

I said I was going to write about my health, but instead I’m going to continue writing about more light-hearted topics ;)

I’ve been hunkered down the past few weeks, not keeping up with the news. So when I read this post yesterday, I realized just how out of touch I’ve been. Illness will do that to you. 

For about 24 hours I’ve been thinking about this dynamic, the one expressed in “Grace’s” account. About the exclusivity vs. inclusivity of #metoo. About how people are still blowing whistles against survivors; making authoritative, empty noise regarding personal, vulnerable accounts. Consuming survivors, as if the initial consumption of trauma isn't enough.

If it isn’t obvious, I fall into the inclusive camp. You cannot define someone else’s trauma.

My story resembles the accounts that seem undefinable and murky when rettold. Thankfully, I haven’t been subjected to the ravaging comments or questioning of others. Yet daily for three and a half years I experienced ravaging thoughts and questioned myself. The should-haves, could-haves, would-haves, all resulting in the same conclusive actions: blaming myself, shaming myself, and making excuses for my abuser. 

The empty noise-makers proclaim that in _ situation you should, would, or could. Therefore, you’re excluded. You’re not worth #metoo. You’re #toomuch. 

And for years I believed this, even before the abuse. I am #toomuch. Too sensitive, too lonely, too emotional, too imperfect. Add abuse into that equation and it equals 'my fault.'

I didn’t fight or flee. I did the third option, the one rarely discussed. I froze. I was numb. As soon as he left, the cyclical blame and shame began and continued for exactly three and a half years. I’ve replayed the situation in my mind hundreds of times; dreamed about it too many to remember. I should have done this, or I could have done that. But instead, I was too much and not enough. My too much-ness caused it, and my not enough-ness made me numb.

Not worthy of #metoo; #toomuch to deal with.

But Jesus' empathetic eyes look at us and say, “Me too.” And He doesn’t look away – not in shame, disgrace, or frustration. Jesus was ravaged, questioned, abused, abandoned.
The empty noisemaking opinions and endless questions fall mute at the breadth of His authority, in the wake of His compassion. 
He doesn't serve up blame or offer suggestions. He offers Himself.

He loves you, just as you are. No past, present, or future verbs attached. He was too much for the world, so that you would never be too much for Him. 🌼

*If you need someone to talk to about these things, that often feel scary and isolating, email me- christishuhart@gmail.com