I felt like I was different in a bad way from other Christians at Church. Like that, they had a stronger connection to God.
I felt like I was always blowing it. I was constantly plagued with the idea that I was too sinful to be forgiven and that my sins were worse than other peoples. The devil tormented me often, telling me I had committed the unpardonable sin.
During worship, I could see other people entering into deep worship and being blessed, but I myself felt like an impostor…and locked out.

I still tried very hard to be a good Christian. Eventually I joined the Church and my pastor came to me to teach both Sunday school and Missionettes. Even though I didn’t feel adequate, I agreed to try. I loved it.

I would talk to other members of the Church, but I always felt beneath them, not because of the way they treated me, but because of how I felt about myself. I remember one day my pastor’s wife asked another sister and I to go out shopping and to hang out and fellowship. When she came by to pick me up at my house, I got into the back seat. She said, “Why are you in the back seat, get up here with me.” She laughed. I got in the front and for some reason, she wanted to talk with me like I was a normal human, she wanted to get to know me and be friends with me. I really didn’t understand why…and figured when she got to know me, she’d change her mind. I really felt like I was lower than everyone else… and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hang around me.

Even in the family of God, I felt like I was on the outside looking in.

That feeling of being a redheaded stepchild at God’s family reunion eventually wore me down…and after a serious trial in my life, I walked away from God.

Eventually, while I was away from God, I came to study on the effects of being raised in a dysfunctional home. There were things my parents did that conveyed the message to me that I was a bad person who was unworthy of consideration and love. Even when I was doing my best to behave and do what they told me, even when I did everything to please my parents, they would tell me I was bad. It wasn’t always outright, sometimes it was subtle. For example, one time my mother was questioning my brother and I about something that happened. To this day I can’t remember what it was, but I’m guessing my brother did something and lied to her saying he didn’t do it, so she was questioning us as to who did whatever it was. I denied doing it because I hadn’t done it. My brother also denied it, so my mother said that the devil would pull our toes if we lied to her. I woke up that night to my mother pulling my toes. I realize that she wasn’t the devil, it still said that no matter what….even if I was obedient, my mother and father thought I was bad and needed to be punished. There was no pleasing my parents, no matter how hard I tried.

“Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children.” -William Makepeace Thackeray

We as little children are completely dependent on our parents to provide for all of our needs. When we are born, our mother is all we know. She keeps us warm, fed, clean and safe…. She is our whole world, and we are completely dependent upon her. Over time, we grow and can do more for ourselves, but she is still our first god… so is our father. If this first god tells you that no matter how hard you try to do what is right, you’ll fail…then you take that on as an identity. When you encounter the true God… this identity comes with you. If your parents were constantly telling you how disappointed they are in you…even when you are doing what they tell you to do, then you will unwittingly believe God feels the same way about you. My mother used to say,“ A mother loves all of her children, but she loves the firstborn the most.” My mother had two children, my older brother and I. My older brother was sadistic. At 3, he fed us rat poison. My mother said when she came to see us in the hospital, the doctor made her beat us with a ruler for eating the poison in order to visit. I don’t believe this, but this was her story. The smart doctor held me responsible for being poisoned by my brother against my will or knowledge. When I was 4 my brother jammed his fingers into my eyes, detaching them at the bottom. I screamed in pain and was punished by my mother and forced to stand on my knees in the hallway until she noticed the blood running down my face. I ended up in the ER again….and still no one came to see how I kept having these things happen to me. Screaming got me punished…IT WAS A BAD THING….and when we lived in base housing it was really bad because it threatened my father’s job… so no screaming in terror or pain when my brother abused me…and no defending myself either because then my father would beat me with an electric cord. I felt so unimportant and so unwanted and unlovable because of all of this….so when I became a Christian, I expected that God would see me the same way. I also expected God to see the other people the way my parents saw other people and my mother saw my brother…as perfect and worthy of love. I was an outsider…in my family and in the family of God.

I felt like I was saved on a technicality. I couldn’t understand why anyone wanted to be my friend.

When I got married, my husband spent the 28 years we had together affirming these things and driving home the point that I was hopelessly bad. If he spent all the money on drugs and had no lunch money or money for bills, it was my fault. If he cheated on me with 4 women, it was because my illness stress him out. Part of my problem was the conditioning of my parents caused me to naturally feel comfortable with that type of treatment, so I gravitated to people like my parents.

I had the same view of God as I did of my parents. I didn’t think about it and decide that God felt the same way about me, it just happened that I projected my parent’s feelings about me onto God. So when I became a Christian, I was serving a God that was perpetually disappointed in me and who viewed me as a defective person who was just bad no matter what. So I kept waiting and looking for God to completely reject me for a sin…. The sin…. You know, the one you can’t be forgiven for. I kept thinking I had blown it and now God had a good reason to get rid of me. But see… I really wanted to love God and to be loved by him…so I kept trying. We know that the real God isn’t even like that… that the real God loves me so much that he sent his only-begotten Son to die for me. While I knew this on one hand… I could not feel its truth in my spirit.

So, I would see people praising God, tears rolling down their checks…. And I would hear people speak of the love they have for God and how he loves them… I just couldn’t connect to it because of the belief I had about myself.

If I told someone that I felt unworthy of God’s love, they would say… Oh yes, we are…but he still loves us. I couldn’t get anyone to understand… I felt so alone.

It wasn’t until God (who actually really does love me) lead me to teachings (while I was backslidden) that would show me how I was programmed to believe these things about myself in order to keep me from feeling the love of God.

The Bible commands parents how to raise their children “but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord” Ephesians 6:4. God expects parents to raise their children, so they understand the love and instruction of God. My parents were ignorant of the things of God and because they did not understand what it means to have a relationship with God or the value of having one, they could not see how much damage their behavior caused me spiritually….and emotionally. They were supposed to raise me to value my relationship with God and that God has so much love for me and desires to have a relationship with me so much that he sent his only-begotten Son to die for me, so I could be saved and reconciled to God. And if I knew that, my self-esteem would be built on my importance to God and his love for me. This would have allowed me to feel God’s love and to worship God, knowing he welcomed my praise and adoration. Knowing God loves me would inspire my praise.

For me, healing came when I realized that my parents were wrong and replacing their beliefs with the truth about God.

My heart, even in when backslidden, desires to be in fellowship with God. So, I began to listen to Bible teachings…. I took notes and even went out to get a new Bible….a fresh start! On this new journey, I have come to build a relationship with the real God based on his love. I know he loves me, so I lay all my burdens on him… I know he loves me, so I am confident he is working on my behalf. I can feel his love… and now when I worship him I feel a real connection and blessing.

I forgive my parents and brother. I know that they were doing what they thought was right at the time. Their mental conditioning was not abrupt, it was a little at a time…like the small trickle of water that ends up carving out a river.

If you find this blog and have felt this way, please feel free to reach out to me. I don’t want anyone to feel inferior in the family of our precious God…. I know that healing from destructive beliefs comes from embracing the truth.