Access denied: reclaiming spaces

Today I went to the grocery store. This was the same grocery story where I had a nightmare about meeting my parents, and having a horrific meeting. My mother (not knowing about my dream, which was only written in my private journals at the time) also mentioned this very place in her rambling e-mail.

I had a sudden flash of anxiety: “What if I meet them there? What will I say?”

“If I meet them, I will be competent to handle the situation,” I told myself. Then, a little laugh tickled my throat. “They are such silly people…”

Really, I am realizing…there are people like them everywhere. I can spot them. It is sad, really, because this is the result of so many people being raised in distant, abusive, domineering, or otherwise unhealthy environments. But aside from the sadness…I can see them. I have to work with them. I rub shoulders with people like this all the time. Narcissists? Perhaps. Victims of abuse? Perhaps. Abusers themselves? Probably. 

But I can see them. If you would see them, you would probably say, “they are emotionally immature.” 

And that is their defining characteristic.

And I don’t let emotionally immature people close to me. I just don’t anymore. Not for ministry, not for money, not for family, not for public image, not for anything. It’s too bad they have issues. I’ll put on my white gloves, and reach out a long stick way way out to where they can grab it. Maybe that can help them pull themselves out of their mess. But I’m not going in there after them. And they’re sure as hell not coming into my heart or life or home. 

Access denied. Accès interdite, as they say in French. You can’t come in here. And by the way, you can’t have that place either.

Today, I took back the grocery store from my parents. If I see them there one day (as is likely, this summer when they visit my brother) I will see them as they are: aging, physically weak, emotionally immature. Powerless over me. It’s sad, really. But the fact that they are mad as hell also makes me want to laugh. It’s sad. It’s pathetic. It’s funny. But it’s not scary anymore. I can handle them.

And that store is mine. This town is mine. I grew up here. I know people here. Unlike them, I built bridges, rather than burned them in this place. People know me, even old classmates or long-forgotten coworkers will go out of their way to greet me, find a job for me (that happened), or stand with me. I am safe here. 

I declare, I am safe here. This is my town. 

I am taking it back from them. 

Driving here, I had so much anxiety. But if they wish to cause me mischief, I suspect that that anxiety will be theirs next time. I am secure here: I am socially and spiritually protected. They have been cast out.

A few weeks ago, we felt a spiritual presence at our door: I felt like it came when I thought of my dad, and his raging anger towards me. My six year old was having nightmares. My three year old told mommy there were, “scary men” at the door. I had nightmares. Then I felt like I could picture — in detail — the men at the door. So we prayed. And we both felt that that darkness left. 

Accès interdite. In this place, we worship the Lord Jesus Christ. If you’re not with that program, get out in the name of Jesus.

So we took back our front door. And we took back our grocery store. And I’m taking back my mind.

Why — why — am I devoting so much energy to these wicked, silly, small, immature people? 

…because I have to. It is true. I have to.

I will spend every moment necessary for this journey. But not one moment more.

I will also start instituting “mental safe-spaces.” I have been disciplining myself to think of other things more and more. Mostly, I discipline myself to think about and pray for my family members, one by one. 

Slowly, they are being edged out of my mind.

I don’t completely know what I would do or say if I saw them. It would depend on a lot of factors.

But I can trust my future self to work it out. He will be competent, and God will be on his side.

And if I see them here, we will be meeting on my turf, and they are not welcome here.