Crying Behind the Mask Crying Behind the Mask
By Rebecca Anne Johnston
Outwardly, I was a happy Christian wife and mother; inside theturmoil and pain of my marriage was tearing me apart.
While browsing through a store recently, I saw a card whichreminded me of the emotional secrets I hid behind a mask whilegrowing up. It pictured a little girl, with golden braids and apretty pink dress, hanging up laundry on a clothesline.
Once I was that innocent little girl, happy as a “mommy” to myyounger brother, a nurse to my dolls, and a little helper to mymother.
Then a chain of events occurred which changed the course of mylife. At age three, I learned from my aunt of an older sister who haddied at birth. “She was so beautiful,” my aunt told me, “with lots ofdark curly hair. She was just perfect.” I asked my aunt manyquestions, and became obsessed with this sister. As I grew older, Iknew secretly that I could never attain the same perfection that thislittle girl would have attained if she had lived.
My self-image was also shaped by my younger brother. Things seemedto come so easily to him. He did everything better than me: Morefriends, better grades, more talent in sports. I always tried to bejust like him, but failed continually.
When I was eight, my family was involved in a serious caraccident. My brother and I were separated from Mom and Dad for threemonths. This separation created a great sense of loss and abandonmentin my life. Then came the most devastating event of all: Mygrandfather molested me when I was nine. Prior to this, he’d nevershown any inappropriate behavior toward me. After the incest, mychildhood slipped away like a thief in the night. My dolls weretraded for a baseball and bat. When I played house with mygirlfriends, I was always the husband. And my golden braidsdisappeared, replaced by a short boyish hairstyle. Others labeled mea “tomboy” and secretly, I wished that I could be a boy.
I teased other girls, rather than identifying with them. I couldnever be as feminine or pretty as they are, I thought. I admired andfelt protective toward feminine girls, like a boy would feel.
I became my mother’s protector, admiring and idolizing her. Webecame emotionally enmeshed as I became her confidante, hercaretaker, her surrogate husband. My father was withdrawn emotionallyand physically, and found refuge in his work to avoid emotionalinvolvement. I began to believe that emotional support and securitycould be found only in another woman.
I longed for physical closeness to other girls, but avoidedphysical contact due to inner fears of my growing same-sexattractions. I had been raised in a Christian home and knew suchfeelings did not agree with God’s intended plan for men and women. Atage 15, I made a strong commitment to the Lord, but my Christian walkwas judgmental and self-righteous, centered around what I could dofor God. I did not know how to grow into an intimate and joyfulrelationship with Jesus Christ.
I was 16 when I met Bob and we were married by the end of mysenior year of high school. Soon we were blessed with two beautifulchildren. I became the “good Christian wife and mother,” but all wasnot well. Outwardly, we looked like an ideal family. But behindclosed doors, our marriage was very dysfunctional. I continued in mychildhood role of protector and rescuer; Bob became verbally–thenphysically–abusive. I was terrified of his anger. My shaky identityas a woman was beaten down even further by his outbursts.
I was afraid to confront any of these issues. And I’d do anythingto avoid Bob’s wrath. If I sensed that he didn’t want me to dosomething, even simple things like playing softball or going shoppingwith my friends, I’d wait until the last second before announcing myplans and running out the door.
I felt totally unaffirmed, unloved, uncherished as a woman.Instead, I was filled with shame, guilt and a deep sense ofworthlessness. But, rather than confronting my feelings, I stuffedthem down, pretending everything was perfectly fine.
Then, when I was 29, my “perfect” mask was shattered into amillion pieces. My husband became deathly ill and was hospitalized.During this time, he confessed to me that, two years earlier, he hadbecame sexually involved with another woman.
I was totally devastated. All my suppressed feelings came rushingto the surface. I remembered my grandfather’s betrayal of my sexualinnocence. I also felt the pain of other physical (non-sexual) abuseat the hands of my dad, my brother, and other men as I was growingup.
At first, as a “mature” Christian, I forgave my husband. But, overthe coming months, my emotional and physical stability wore down. Bobwas not able to work, and all the family responsibilities fell on myshoulders. I had to nurse my husband, raise my children, manage thehouse, and work a full-time job to pay the bills. Bob’s ownfrustration and fears about the future came pouring out in moreverbal and physical abuse.
By the summer of 1981, I was totally exhausted. Then I hurt myback at work and had to apply for disability. All the years ofsuppressed emotions broke loose. My mask fell off and my truefeelings were revealed. I felt heartbroken, angry, betrayed anddisillusioned. My life had careened out of control like a runaway carwith no steering wheel.
Five months later, after 13 years of marriage, I became involvedin a lesbian relationship. I’d met this woman at a Christian camp,and we had become emotionally dependent upon each other. I was tryingto encourage her away from alcoholism. But one night I was sodepressed over my marriage that I suggested we go to a bar and have adrink. We did–and I began a pattern of heavy drinking that continuedfor almost two years.
My lover and I began to frequent the gay bars and lesbian clubs.At the same time, I continued to be involved in my children’s lives.Bob did not want a divorce, so I initiated it. Our marriage endedofficially in September 1983, and we were given joint custody of thechildren.
My parents were totally shocked. It was two years before my mothercould utter aloud, “My daughter is a lesbian.” My father tried toignore the whole situation, hoping it would go away.
The first year of my lesbian relationship seemed wonderful. Butgradually my emotional and sexual addictions grew more obsessive, andthe deep hurts in my heart continued to flourish. My lover’salcoholism grew worse, and she became physically and emotionallyabusive to me.
But I was addicted to the relationship. Even when I experiencedabuse, dishonesty, unfaithfulness and financial ruin, I could notbreak away from her.
I’ll never forget one night we were in a lesbian bar. I wassitting alone while my lover danced with another woman. I heard theLord whisper to my heart, “My child, what are you doing here? Youwon’t find happiness in this place. I desire so much more for you.”As I looked around, God showed me the unhappiness under all thesmiling masks around me.
But it was another year before God broke through my denial. It wasFall 1984. I was hitting bottom, feeling more inner pain than when mymarriage had broken up. I couldn’t eat or sleep. My health wasfailing and I was suicidal. My lover was seeing another woman, and Ifelt all the hurt, anger, betrayal and other emotions that I’dexperienced while married–only the hurt was multiplied tenfold.
I had suffered betrayal again, only this time at the hands of awoman. I had given up everything for this relationship, and now itwas falling apart. I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Iwas taking tranquilizers, antidepressants and sleeping pills to getthrough each day and night.
God showed me that these medications were only like Band-Aidplastic strips covering a deep and festering wound. I knew I’d neverfill the inner void with lesbian relationships.
I realized that I needed help. With my Christian upbringing, Iknew the truth of God’s Word. I cried out to the Lord and He heard mycry (Psalm 40:1-2). He took me by the hand and began leading me onthe journey toward wholeness.
Many people had been praying for me. My mother sent me thetestimony of a former lesbian who had changed with God’s help. Then aChristian man at work discerned my pain, and began reaching out tome. He put me in touch with another woman who had also walked awayfrom lesbianism, even though I had not told him about my specificstruggles! The Holy Spirit was at work in a mighty way.
In January 1985 I asked my lover to move out, and I begancounseling with Carrie Wingfield, a former lesbian who directed aministry in Seattle. She introduced me to her church, where Ifellowshipped for the next five years. I received the baptism of theHoly Spirit in April 1985, and grew in my healing process throughjoining support groups like Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics.
My journey to freedom was not easy. In 1987, I relapsed into anunhealthy relationship and then had a one-night affair with myex-lover. Later that year, I checked myself into an inpatienttreatment center for co-dependency, then began counseling atMetanoia, an ex-gay ministry in Seattle.
Through counseling, God began digging up the deeper roots of mylesbianism. I had to face the rejection, loneliness, self-hatred andother hurts from my childhood. The pain of withdrawal from myaddictive behaviors was overwhelming at times. Sometimes I wonderedif the pain would ever end.
But God was faithful, and my relationship with Him began tochange. I became totally dependent on Him for my every need. Insteadof seeing Him as an unfair and condemning God, I began to experienceHim as a loving Father who wants wholeness for me.
Four years ago, I moved back to the area where I had lived as amarried woman and my children came to live with me. We had manyissues to work through. I asked their forgiveness for leaving them,but my son was not able to find any release until he verbalized hispain in a letter: “Mom, when you went away, it left a big hole in myheart that I am not sure will ever be filled again.” Scott’s letteropened a door for more communication and healing between us.
There has been pain, but even more victory and healing. I stillhave struggles in relation to my former husband, who has sinceremarried. But my parents are extremely supportive of my healingprocess, and they are excited to see God’s call on my life. InFebruary 1992 I became women’s ministry coordinator at MetanoiaMinistries in Seattle. I am now also attending college, pursuing adegree in counseling.
For much of my life, I hid my wounds behind a mask. Now, withGod’s help, I have faced the inner pain and I’m finding His healing.The smile on my face is genuine, reflecting the inner joy that Godhas given me.
Copyright (C) 1990, 1994 by Rebecca Anne (Baeder) Johnston.Distributed by Love In Action, PO Box 753307, Memphis, TN 38175-3307;901/542-0250.