Safe…Feeling safe…Being safe…Safety in a relationship…
I say the words all the time…I don’t feel safe. I feel safe when…I need to feel safe. I need my husband to make me feel safe. I need…someone…to make me feel safe. Why can’t I feel safe? How do I get to the place where God makes me feel so safe that I don’t need any person to do that for me?
Ever since my early teen years I have looked for someone…something…to make me feel safe. I searched in all the wrong places, trying to get that safety from all the wrong people.
There were times I thought I had found it. A man I thought could give me that feeling. But it never lasted long. I eventually told myself I was the only person who could bring safety to my life. Yes, I knew God could too…I just didn’t know how.
It’s a huge responsibility to lay on another person…to ask them to be your safe place…And I don’t mean like a confidant…a safe person to talk to. I mean to truly depend on someone to make your life a safe place to be.
After so many years of living in an unsafe home….being in an unsafe relationship…never knowing what I would get when I got home…not knowing if Rob would be sober…or just a little drunk…or really drunk…or passed out. Finding places to go on the weekends with the girls so we didn’t have to be there for the many phases of Rob’s day…From the nice, to the overly emotional, to the really mean and hurtful phases…just praying he would be passed out before we got home. And trying to get three young girls to be as quiet as possible and tiptoe through the living room so we didn’t wake him up.
I craved safety…order…control…I tried to control everything I could because so much of my life was out of control.
I needed to know I could have safety. I needed it to come from my husband. I needed to know there was an end to the craziness. I needed to hear from someone who had been there…who had lived through what I was living through…I needed to know there was hope.
15 months in to my husband’s sobriety, I’m still searching for this elusive safety. I need my home to be a safe place…a place I can express my feelings, my needs, my wants, my hurts…safely. Without worrying how my husband will react. Without fearing being judged.
But as I think this…as I write this…these are my issues…not my husband’s…My feeling of safety—or lack of—that’s me. That’s not something my husband is doing anymore. It’s me remembering the past. Reliving the pain. Replaying his reactions…words… cruelty from years ago. That’s me assuming he will react the same way he has in the past. That’s my insecurity, my feelings of inadequacy, my fear of trusting my husband with my heart.
So, I know this in my head. I have worked it out, rationally and logically. Now comes the hard work…getting through to my heart.