Mother’s Day Hell

mother's dayYesterday was Mother’s Day. Traditionally Mother’s Day is hell for me, and has been as far back as I would remember. Why? I could never tell you an exact reason, it’s just that everything seems to go wrong, and by the end of the day I end up feeling like a horrible mother who’s children doesn’t love them. Maybe I am not alone in this matter, but it certainly feels like I am. I see so many friends posting pictures of themselves with their mothers on Facebook, or talking about the wonderful day they had with their children. I see the neighbors driveways filled with cars and hear the laughter of their family get together waft through my bedroom window. All this as I lie in a cold stupor of pain and anguish.

Why would Mother’s Day be so terrible for me? Oh Mother’s Day, let me count the reasons in which I hate you. Let’s start with my non existent relationship with my own mother, including my entire family outside of my husband and children. The pain in not talking to my family alone is incredible. Add on the fact of the abuse that I have endured and the coldness I have received over an entire lifetime, and it becomes excruciating. But I digress.

The real problem with Mother’s Day is not just the pain I feel of having no relationship with my family or seeing other families everywhere I go that are happy. The real trauma comes from the pain and abuse of my childhood, and how it is affecting me to this day. I had grand plans for my Mother’s Day this year. I wanted to spend the day on a family outing. Somewhere outdoors and beautiful where we could feel the sunshine and have a picnic. I wanted to end the day taking the kids to a restaurant: a special treat for them. Yet this was not to be on this day. Instead I spent the better part of the day, locked in my room drowning in pain and despair. I was triggered early in the morning and went into a downward of my own private hell. The pain goes much deeper than anyone could ever realize. It goes all the way back to a little girl in a pretty little yellow dress with lace trim.

If my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will take me up.

Psalm 27:10

I am walking down a hallway that is only dimly lit. I have wandered away from the watchful eye of my grandmother because I want my mommy. I go to the only door in the hallway and quietly push it open. What I see in that room fills my whole being with terror. There is a room, a secret room, and it is filled with men in black robes and lit by candles. Towards the front center of the room is a table and there is a woman strapped down to the table. There is an audience in the room, seated in in the back part of the room. My stomach flips in circles as I watch. The woman is being sexually abused by 3 men. Other men are chanting and calling down the powers of gods. I see this all in a matter of seconds, before someone violently grabs my arm and yanks me away.

My grandmother scolds me severely for walking away from her as she quietly closes the door. My whole body is shaking with fright as I desperately try to push the images I just saw out of my mind. This was my first introduction into the secret world of the occult at the Mormon church. The woman on the table is my mother. This will be a pivotal moment for this poor little 2 year old girl.

I have never had a close relationship with my mother. She has always been emotionally distant. I was afraid of my grandmother, and longed only to please both of them. Yet I never seemed to be able too. I was always in trouble, always getting scolded for my behavior. I was never good enough, and I often felt ashamed of myself. As I grew, my self hatred also grew. As a little 2 year old girl I had already been subjected to sexual abuse at the hands of my grandmother. I had no idea what was happening in that room that day, but somehow I knew that was soon to be my fate.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
    and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
    I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
    your walls are ever before me.

Isaiah 49:15-16

 

It is extremely difficult to write about these things and publicly print them. But the fact of the matter is this was not an isolated incident. This is a common occurrence, not just in the Mormon church, but in many churches and temples, Christians and non Christian alike. It is a secret society that is run by Satan himself, in order to indoctrinate the masses into holding allegiance for him, even though they have no idea. I was only able to recall this memory by the revelation of the Holy Spirit. I am thankful for this and all the other memories, because without them I would not be able to heal from this horror and abuse.

This was the first memory that was given to me by the Holy Spirit. It was difficult, but because the abuse wasn’t being done to me, I was still in denial that anything had happened to me. The Holy Spirit is always gentle and sensitive to a person and what they can handle. He is never pushy or violent. God is a caring and loving Father who wants nothing more than to heal us and bring us into freedom. For my whole life I have been in bondage to hell, and had no idea. Now I know the truth. And the truth has set me free.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds,  because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

James 1:2-4

 

9 Comments

  1. I remember being in some churches and getting a cold icy feeling and sensing a combination of death and sex occurring in the sanctuary..I now know it was probably because of satanic rituals occurring there. It was an episcopal church where I felt this..I know someone who has memories of being taken to satanic rituals. She remembers her grandparents having a glazed look on their faces as they drove her to these rituals. How wide spread would you say satanism is in churches…where born again Believers are? It makes me think of the parable about how the enemy planted tares with the wheat…

    1. Author

      I have seen a large stone altar with pentagrams on the ceiling above it, and a hidden away room covered in masonic symbols in an Episcopal cathedral before. Very scary. This was before I even knew my past.

  2. I found your blog by accident thru a sleepless night and I was compelled to read your life story. After 50 years of stuffing childhood memories, my damn broke about 5 years ago. I have been married nearly 40 years and childless (for better or worse). I had no idea that I truly suffered from PTSD (similar to war heroes coming home from multiple tours of duty) as a result of growing up in an alcoholic, abusive home not to mention a family dr molesting me when I was 12 taken in for strep throat). As a strong, long time Christian I finally received the needed help from a Lutheran female psychologist that gently led me thru healing cognitive behavior therapy. I learned the simple tactic of replacing my fearful, depressive memories with Spirit-filled gratitude in those weak, tearful moments. I cried on Mother’s Day at church as I was fully moved by the Holy Spirit and although momentarily saddened at the loss of my mentally ill mother when I was 27 and the fact that I am childless still, I REFUSE to give Satan any satisfaction that he can control my thoughts!! Beth, always reach for your gratitude!! Thank you for your courage! With Christ, we have the Victory!

  3. Taking your pain and offering it up to Jesus to join with His for the conversion of sinners helps make the pain bearable, and is a gift to Jesus that He can use to help others come to Him. It is the only way I can survive the pain I deal with. I also offer it up for the release of the poor souls in Purgatory.

  4. Thank you..I feel badly but I’m glad someone other than myself went through emotional hell (again)on MD. I shortened it to MD because it’s akin to going to a doctor ALL DAY, like a dentist to suffer through constant drilling, pain and noise. Yeah.
    So Thank you for sharing your pain…glad I’m not alone.

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