Some Battles Need to be Fought Again and Again
Today I introduce you to a less put together version of myself. A part that is messy but no less real.
There was a battle in my house last night. A raging fight that left wounds, exposed weakness and left only one side victorious as the other sulked away only to rearm for the next round.
You can’t see any of the wounds. They are covered deep under layers of smiles and “I’m fine” responses. But the bandages are bloody and I pray the sutures hold.
The weapons were words never spoken, only sparred back and forth on synapses. Do not doubt the venom that existed there. They were sharp, from both sides, with full intent to kill.
The sides were both contained in one space, one soul. Never even allowing anyone the opportunity to defuse the situation.
I lay in bed last night perfectly still as the battle raged inside. I felt the warmth of reassurance next to me, but how could I be sure which side he was on?
It all started as one curled lip suggestion in my head:
Surely you’re not enough. Miss America is what he wants.
The first punch.
There was a stunned silence as I contemplated the hit. It wasn’t the first time I’d been hit, but it had been awhile.
You’re not pretty enough.
I could hear the bullet whiz past my ear. A graze leaving a stinging bleed.
No one wants you.
He’s probably thinking about someone else.
He’ll seek affection with another.
You’ll never be enough.
The rapid fire onslaught caught me off guard and my head was pounding. Automatic weapons are deafening. I knew the blood was pouring out of me and I didn’t know how to stop the bleeding.
But I remembered a pocket knife I had been given. Surely I shouldn’t bring a knife to a gunfight. I ignored the blood and pulled the blade.
I am a child of the KING.
That blade cut the enemy deeper than any gunshot could penetrate.
I am made in HIS image.
Another swipe of the blade.
I am beautiful because HE made me.
The movements came swiftly now. One after another and the enemy could no longer wield his weapons. When I looked I realized the pocket knife had become a sword and the enemy had no defense.
I am more than a conqueror.
I am loved with an everlasting love.
I am His.
I felt worn from the battle. Even victory can leave you exhausted.
Realizing the enemy had no choice but to slink away and lick his wounds, I began to close my eyes. I smiled for the first time since it began. It really had nothing to do with the knife or the sword, but who I invited when I chose to fight back.The battle was won last night. I'm fairly certain the war is not over, but I do know who wins. Click To Tweet
Looking back I see how easy I made it all sound. As much as I know and believe these truths, it is still a struggle. I wish I could say it wasn’t. I wish I could say I have it all figured out and there are only invisible scars. But the truth is that my scars are as visible as I let them be. So, I show them here in the hopes that it helps even one person fell less alone in their own scars.
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About Becky Hastings
I am emotional and logical. I am strong and dependent. I am a juxtaposition of head and heart exploring it all through writing. And in all my mixed-up ways I am loved. I'm here to tell you that you are, too. Just the way you are.