Confessional

Love is a gift, not for you, but for the person whom is loved. Because if someone loves you, that someone accepts you for who you are, forgives you of your mistakes and catches you when you fall. To take advantage and abuse that gift is a pure and intentional sin, because love is something you can’t turn off once you feel it, even if it’s continually taken for granted.

Many people have asked me about my job and what exactly it is I do as I’ve mingled with family and friends at my graduation party this weekend. I tell them the bare minimum, because I wear many hats as an Advocate. Aside for advocating to meet their basic needs in shelter, I make their appointments, work with women on the phone, occasionally babysit, and sometimes advise them.

There are several hats you wear in a non-profit line of work, many needs and people of different needs.

Yesterday I had three, THREE women in tears. My office frequently becomes a confessional for our clients, and I get the chance to learn so much about them in the process. Sometimes it tears me up inside, other times it really brings their issues in to focus.

It really hurts to see women who outpouring so much love be treated so poorly in return.

One bad decision in life does not make you unworthy of love. That’s my thought on the matter. There are many nights where I’ll sit listening to women one right after another, and they will thank me, and I will tell them that everything is going to be ok.

There are some people who don’t know what it’s like to be loved, they pour out so much love that they overlook the bare minimum of what they deserve. That makes me sad.

So I will sit with them. Some sit there just talking, some will doodle on paper or make lists, and I will sit, listening intently. I close down the office so I can put all my focus on them like they deserve. Others occasionally come in for minute needs, and I ask them nicely to wait. I can’t just stop someone in the middle of their personal revelation to get you laundry soap, it ruins the magic.

The three confessions I heard last night focused on one common theme three different ways: Letting go.

The first woman is struggling with letting go of the home her and her abuser had together because of the good memories that reside there.

The second is struggling with letting go of her addictions and pride and trying to get right again with God and go back to counseling.

The third is struggling with letting go of her husband and abuser of fifteen years, and letting go of letting people walk all over her the way she let him.

Three different women, three different needs, three different spectrums of socio-economic statuses, three different struggles with un-reciprocated love. Sure, all three love their abusers, and all three believed their abusers loved them.

They’ll go to bed for the night, and is will sit, knit, and process. I’ve given all the advice I can.

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