The Road to Recovery
Not an ending to the conversation, the road to recovery
by Danielle S. Castillejo
a way-finder
Spaces of dissonance with the life I was coerced into living broke apart. My body screamed, “STOP!”
Friends rushed in. Perhaps they held goodwill in their hearts. Perhaps not. What is clear is that my mind and body were craving validation, and the freedom to express the truth.
John 8:31-32 states, “31 Jesus said to the people who believed in him, “You are truly my disciples if you remain faithful to my teachings. 32 And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Had I remained faithful to Jesus’ teachings – or was i actually being faithful to an interpretation of those teachings that taught me to link untruth to faith?
Years ago, two dear friends arrived to talk sense into me.
Our teak table was in the space between. The four of us and our combined 6 children were relaxing with babysitters affording us all the opportunity to meet and talk about my problems. My problems. Not somebody else’s problems. None of the trauma expressed in my actions matched with my faith or beliefs. It was simply the best way I could think of to get God’s attention. I don’t know if that worked. But I do know that, with the four of us sitting at the table, I was receiving the care, kindness, and attention that I so badly needed. If this was the way that I was going to get it, then so be it.
It felt containing. Maybe someone would or could finally see. Or, maybe I would remain as I always had; someone would scratch the surface of awareness and I’d be left lighting candles by myself for the spirit inside of me that was slowly dying. I didn’t know, I just know that the meeting of the four of us held the possibility of some sort of meaning beyond my imprisoned heart.
My body ached for connection, redemption and maybe the adventure of relief.
Sure, Luis and I have over a decade of marriage under our belts but that wasn’t enough. Ten years of commitment from a man wasn’t ever going to be enough, at least not yet. I didn’t know if he would stay past this meeting or leave at the end or stay until we are gray. He looked in my direction over and over and over again, capturing my eyes only once; I knew that to look at him would reveal my neediness and weakness.
He would leave and I would be left alone. The church suggested I needed inpatient care, or had brain damage. Maybe Luis should leave.
God doesn’t acknowledge trauma, much less engage trauma. Jesus isn’t Lord over the trauma. He couldn’t have meant to suffer together, collectively for the harms, my harm or any other.
These weren’t even words, but body sensations I taught myself to survive in suffocating systems of denial of truth and reality.
He would have to take the kids with him because I was not the mother that they needed, and dread lurked inside of me at those thoughts, but for now I was here, Luis’ arm sat next to mine.
There is a sense here that hopelessness will win, that God has abandoned me, that faith is lost and despair wins. I cannot give you the end of the story because the story is not yet completed and I do not know what life’s circumstances will bring to me and my husband and four children.
Dr. Miguel de la Torre talks about “embracing hopelessness”. It’s not about giving up hope, but living in the tension of knowing the system is flawed.
The conception of the system is built on patriarchal and racist structures that need my consent to keep holding power in my life. And, it is not just me.
Dr. Stearns (2020) states, “To focus on the body is to understand the very roots of language and meaning, as well as the divergent ways in which trauma shatters oneself and ones located-ness in the world.”1
Thus, this highlights the necessity of delving into the work of the spirit in the broken places of trauma in body, mind, and spirit, to discover place, and make meaning of the world.
Trauma does not heal over time. Trauma does not go away. Vicious cycles of consent, which are really coercion, require sacrifice that mirrors abuse and re-enactment instead of the glory and beauty in brokenness.
Jesus was witnessed by those with him. He did his work, consenting of his free will, not coerced by God. Our fear of one another, the fear of difference, the fear of imperfection, and the idolization of imperfect church leaders provides momentary comfort while leaving a legacy of abuse and harm.
Rambo states, “Death is not an event that is concluded. Neither is life a victorious event that stands on the other side of death. Instead, trauma uncovers a middle to this narrative; it reveals a theological territory of remaining.”
In the ongoing life of the deaths of trauma, our minds, bodies and souls begin to split the experience of harm into pieces in order to continue breathing. As Rambo accurately narrates a pathway to know Jesus in more intimate ways through these deaths, that lead toward resurrection. There are more opportunities for life, more resurrection and a deeper understanding of the harm.