Daily Excerpt: It Only Hurts When I Can't Run (Parker) - Introduction
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excerpt from It Only Hurts When I Can't Run by Gewanda Parker
Introduction
I believe in a God
who heals, delivers, and sets captives free. Because God in His mercy did this
for me, I have to let the world know that if God can do it for me, surely God can
do it for the next person. That is why I had to write this book—and I must admit
that writing this narrative has been an unexpectedly tedious but healing
journey.
I remember the day I
began writing about the sexual abuse in my life. I started writing early in the
day. I wrote for about four hours. I revisited every encounter I remembered
from ages five to sixteen. When I finished, I erupted into tears. This flood of
emotions lasted for nearly six hours. Anger, hurt, scarring, shame, betrayals,
disbelief and even fear gripped me to the core of my being. When I had finally
stopped, the time seemed to have slipped by because it was well past 11p.m.
On this occasion,
God and my good friend were there. She sat there, praying silently for me while
I cried uncontrollably. With each memory vividly replaying in my mind, a wave
of fresh emotions overflowed deep within my spirit. My breath would be taken
away, and then a calm would come.
Sometime later, I
asked my friend what she thought as I was bellowing away. She replied, “I kept
feeling a cool breeze.” Her comment filled us both with awe when I told her
that is exactly what it felt like deep within my soul.
After that incident,
I stopped writing for a few years and got myself into intense counseling.
Although I had been in counseling since age 20, I knew I needed something more.
I had to face the truth of my reality. I had many sessions like this throughout
the initial stages of writing, and with each one, I took the time necessary to
close up the wounds as much as possible.
I had been abused in
all areas. I had experienced rejection at the highest and deepest places. I had
experienced some of the most horrific acts of violence. I needed more than the
cool breeze of the Holy Spirit that bathed me. I needed to be trained to live
healthy among people and to have real relationships. I needed to know myself,
understand why I responded the way I did. I needed to know why authority
figures scared the crap out of me, but I refused to humble myself before them. Why
was the need for a mother so great in my life? I even questioned myself because
I was so afraid of men and what they could do to me. Why was I angry all the
time? Why was the need to be alone with a book and no one else around so great?
Why was a I germaphobe? Why was the thought of taking my own life hounding me
in my moments of solitude? Questions plagued me constantly. I had lived the
nightmare that had been my life for all of my formative years, uncovered and
void of protection or security. I desperately needed to get some insight and
tools to help me live and exist with some level of inner peace.
I did not want to be
a statistic, nor did I want to be a perpetrator myself. Again, God was gracious,
and where I did not have safe places to return to, God granted me safe spaces
with countless friends, surrogates, and faith communities. In authority
figures, God blessed me with wonderful mentors who took the time to raise me
emotionally, professionally, and spiritually. Within the context of my real
world, my healing brought on newfound friendships and new levels of
communication. These tools helped me to reenter relationships with those who
were once the enemy of my existence.
In volume two, I
will share a closer look at how this transformation has taken place. In fact,
that transformation is the meat of the story. We all have histories and lives,
but how we live out our lives defines tragedy or triumph, not how we got where
we ultimately ended up.
Yes, writing this
book was painful, but even more painful was living its pages. For most of my
life, I ran. I found myself running even in my adult life—in every relationship.
I now have come to understand that in order to grow beyond life’s difficulties
one must stop running long enough to see the truth of life’s pain and the power
of its implications.
Without my past,
there would not be a today, and without running, I might not have survived my
past. I did stop running, though, and because I did, today I am helping others
who are running to survive the pain of their lives.
During my healing years,
which still go on, I took a step outside of myself and tried to understand how
and why a person could treat another person the way I had been treated. I
forced myself to mentally and emotionally exchange places with my caretakers in
an effort to understand their positions. I saw a battered mother who knew
nothing but pain in her own life. I saw someone trying to parent who had not
been properly reaffirmed and emotionally nourished herself when she was growing
up. I saw a complete stranger take in children who were extremely needy, give
them the best she had to offer, only to be taken advantage of, aggravated and
even placed in compromising situations. The cycle of a dysfunctional life is abjectly
circular. It encompasses and entombs the lives of people who have no other
solutions: previous experiences continually resurface.
I was rescued in a
Methodist Church on Booker Street in Sebring, Florida. People can argue all day
and night or even a century long about the existence of God and faith. I am a
living witness to the fact that without God I really would be nothing. That
church exposed me to a true higher power. When I walked down the aisle to give
my heart to Christ at age of six, something happened. I believed at an early
age what the preacher said about God changing lives. I knew I needed someone or
something to change my life. The Bible lessons I learned in Sunday
School were real to me. I now know the prevenient grace of God was working
through this church to save my soul and my life.
In all my foster
homes, the caregivers claimed a belief in God. I saw various forms of worship
experiences, each of which opened my mind to God in deeper ways. My heart
trusted in someone much greater than myself. I sang every song to God. I read
the Bible and catechism for new hope. I watched the church people
intensely. I listened to the messages the preachers preached. I learned about a
Savior who could change the horrible things I lived daily. The seeds of faith
were planted in my heart early. With every situation and trial I encountered,
they sprang forth stronger. I knew I was fortunate. I knew I had been rescued.
I knew my life would reach beyond those who knew me then. I also knew I had to
be an overcomer and a living example of God’s power to change broken lives.
That is the primary reason this book had to be birthed.
The names of the
characters in the story have been changed to protect the guilty. After 16 years
of writing, rewriting, counseling, revising and revamping, I have finally
reached a place of telling enough of the truth without disclosing everything. It
was enough to share a glimpse into my life, while at the same time protecting
others by not shining the spotlight on them. I hope the girl’s experience in
the story carries the bulk of the attention and the reader does not pass
judgment on the other characters.
It is my hope, too, that
by reading this book the reader will walk away with a deeper resolve to be
participants in the lives of children who are living distressed lives. As you
will see in this story, there were many who helped me and offered me a
different experience. Without these concerned adults, my life may have had a
very different outcome. The girl in this story needed love. She needed help. She
needed someone to look beyond what she couldn’t say and be the helpful adult in
the life of a child.
Sadly, our society
is filled with many children who need concerned and helpful people like those
in this story. Each one of us must do all that we can to be a part of the
solution for these children instead of ignoring them or, worse, being among the
problems they have to overcome.
I have said on many
occasions that I was shielded from the world at large but exposed to much greater
dangers behind closed doors. Silent abuse is happening in the homes, churches,
fraternal societies, clubs, and organizations in which children participate.
The men who touched my body inappropriately were not convicted pedophiles; they
were dressed in suits and ties, and some even wore clergy collars. The people
who hit me were not on a wanted poster but dressed up every Sunday in church,
sang in choirs, worked on boards, and held good jobs. This is the life of a
vast majority of innocent children caught in a web of silent and unspoken sins.
Right now, your
holding this book in your hands is a part of the fulfillment of my mission of passing
on hope. Please, don’t just read and discuss this book. Rather, read and pass
the gift of a copy to someone else who needs to hear this message. Point people
to the right places! Help them to seek out methods of healing and find places
of refuge! Be a part of the mission because you could be a change agent
yourself!
Gewanda J. Parker
For more posts about Gewanda and her book, click HERE.
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