Heal With Me

Healing is not linear and hope ebbs and flows.

That is what I continue to tell myself as I become a little better, a little stronger, a little healthier and a little more self-aware every day.

This site has been relatively quiet for the last two years. Writing for public consumption has been next to impossible for me, as my own life has transformed.

That’s such a pretty way to describe what has happened in my world.

The reality is that my entire life has been broken, shattered, imploded…words to describe the all-consuming and overwhelming changes over the last two years escape me.

I am exhausted. I am invigorated. I am devastated and hopeful. Like Jen’s Phoenix, I have been through a refining fire. I am worn out and road-weary from trying to reclaim my life. my peace. my sense of self. I don’t want to rise from the ashes any longer.

If you have been here for any length of time, you know that I have a background in social work and mental health. In my career, one of the first things we do when meeting with a client is assessing for support systems, community connectedness and resilient relationships. Humans are created for community and connection, and these can be vital in the recovery process, regardless of the type of recovery.

This is my plea, my crying out, my ego-death declaring that I need my people. This is me humbly asking those of you who came to this page because my support and advocacy for others empowered and inspired you to stay with me in the trenches.

Healing is not linear.

When I first launched this page, I was using my “roar” for those I love. I elevated the voices of survivors and dispelled myths surrounding trauma, abuse and the intersection of those things with the church. Jen and Deb came alongside, and we tackled hard topics, primarily on behalf of our community. Now, I need community. I need to reclaim my fire, my zeal, my roar. I imagine that advocacy will continue to ride shotgun with me on this writing journey, but I am no longer using my voice solely for the sake of others. I need to speak for me. I need to love myself, fight for myself and advocate for myself with the same ferocity with which I fought for all of you and those you love.

When this page was most active, I was working in social work, studying mental health and found most of my identity in my roles as a wife, mother and Christian. Motherhood will always be a central feature of my identity. I have been a mom for as long as I can remember. I have been “mom” to more children than I could honestly count. Over the course of the seven years my ex-husband and I spent in my hometown together, we formally fostered seven children in addition to our four. As a youth leader at my bus-kid-friendly church, we served as a short term oasis for many others. I cannot ignore that my ex-husband helped make it possible for me to have the kind of impact I was never able to have as a parentified child.

I am no longer married. I cannot honestly say how much I will talk about my divorce on this page. My marriage, divorce and recovery are central to the healing process I know that I need to pursue, yet it is crucial that I continue to prioritize my children’s wellbeing as I write. You cannot judge a book by its cover, though, and I did a very good job of presenting the socially acceptable, good-Christian-marriage that was expected of me. I have always been very good at convincing myself that I was loved by people despite all of the evidence otherwise. This skill of mine ultimately led to the loss of my entire support system when I had to leave. We were “couple goals,” for many, and this supported to narrative that he presented to the world when I finally left. I lost most of the support and stability I had with people I considered family, and my church determined to “not take sides.” I no longer feel safe and comfortable in church community despite my deep and profound love for Jesus. I imagine that as I desperately chase after hope, I will be forced to face the heartbreak and disappointment I have experienced within the collective Christian church, but also in my own little church. A little church full of people I considered more my family than blood that I believed in, invested in and trusted also broke my heart. I also have no choice but to face my own demons, take responsibility for the role that I played and identify the patterns within me that contributed to me being where I am today.

And this is the truth.

I feel hopeless and alone. I am overwhelmed and my depressive symptoms are all consuming at this point. I know that I present well. I have mastered the art of convincing the world that everything is okay when it is, in fact, very NOT okay.

In making one crucial decision, I created a ripple effect of loss that touched every aspect of my life. While I know in the depths of my soul that I made the right decision, I was unprepared for the way everything else collapsed slowly around me. This is a “me” problem. This is a “they” problem. This is a “him” problem. This a cultural and systemic problem. All of these things can be true at the same time.

As I go back and re-read some of my old writings I am reminded of some of the hope I shared with all of you. In Eighteen Years, I wrote about depression. I said, “When I look back and reflect, the number of times I tried to die that summer is staggering. I did not see light. I did not have hope. Eventually, though, the light broke through.” I am reminded that hope exists, even when I cannot see it. When reading Your Motives Matter about Tamar and Judah, I am reminded that if I work with God, God will work through me bringing both justice and hope in the worst of circumstances. In re-reading God Sees You, about Hagar and Ishmael, I am reminded that the fullness of scripture is God’s big rescue story. Everyone has abandoned her. Everyone has betrayed both Hagar and her son. She has been used, exploited, abused, mistreated, cast aside and now, cast out. She believed that they were both about to die, and she was completely broken at the idea of watching her son suffer. She was so alone. She was so broken. But God saw her, God didn’t leave her, and God did not leave her son.

I am so broken. I feel so alone. Yet I am reminded even in this darkness that God sees me, God will never leave me, and God will never leave my children. I am seen and known and loved completely, created by God in the image of God to bring Heaven to Earth.

I know this, but I do not feel this.

I will keep writing, because I don’t know what else to do. I will keep climbing this mountain in front of me because I have no other choice. I hope that you will stay with me in this space, and that we can build something bigger than the trauma, bigger than the pain and depression and heartbreak. I hope that you will join hands with me as I lift myself from the rubble and we can hold onto one another in community while we face our own demons, culture’s demons, and figure out how to navigate the demons of others in a way that is not destructive.

In “But I’m Not An Addict,” I wrote about how trauma requires recovery too, and that the defense mechanisms can hijack your life, much like addiction. Healing is not linear, and the last two years have activated every trauma response within me. I am powerless. I need to be restored and to do the hard work of pursuing transformation before this kills me. Before I lose myself in the darkness.

“Find Your Roar” exists so that we can climb this mountain and tackle the journey together.

You are not alone. I am not alone.

Those of us who have experienced the darkest recesses of humanity have the power and resiliency to stand up and reclaim what was always ours. We are capable and competent. We are wise and storied. We have the power to transform lives- ours and our peers. I am capable, competent, wise and storied. I am part of the “we.”

Bandage up those knuckles and lace up those hiking boots. We are going on an adventure, and it’s going to transform us.

It’s time to ROAR.

In Christ Alone,

Cassi