Blog

My name is Jennifer and I was a victim. My YES was abused.  It was taken for granted. It was trampled. It was looked on with despair. It was enslaved. My yes was used. My yes was betrayed. 

I remember learning early on about the importance of surrendering to God—yielding to His Holy Spirit, giving Him my heart, and my yes. Due to many things that happened in my life, I was often one who gave more than I had. I didn’t feel like I had much to offer but I had my service and that was coupled with my yes. 

Naturally, I have always been outspoken and opinionated, but even with all of this personality, there was a part of me that was lacking. A part of me looked down upon myself, and not for any particular reason. This also birthed a part of me that even lacked adequate confidence within myself. I had lost so much, and was accustomed to losing. I try not to dwell on it too much because at a period in my life, what I had lost was all that I could see. It surrounded me and filled my heart with the ache of it. First my parents, then my innocence and self worth. That cycle of loss caused me to give away pieces of myself. Pieces that had not even been fully developed and I did not realize the true value of.  The orphaned spirit can overtake your life. It can cause you to focus on what you don’t have or what you feel you should have had, instead of the present. This spirit can draw us into a hard life by having us mistake people who mean us no good, or who are out to prey on our vulnerabilities. I allowed myself to see myself as unworthy and fall in those traps.  I became accustomed to the hard way, the long road. Even accustomed to a depleted lifestyle, so much so, that I didn’t recognize how much my lack of self-esteem and self-worth had led me to be taken advantage of. I felt small and victimized. The enemy had me believing that I would have to take some things and just stomach it. “Didn’t Christ take persecution?” is a thought that ran through my mind, and challenged my rhetoric. I felt obligated to do this at bare minimum. 

Along the journey, my yes became weary. My yes got tired of being lied on, tired of being used, and tired of being abused. I had been told a laundry list of things about MY yes. I had been told that my yes was: 

1. too much;
2. not enough; 
3. not good enough; 
4. and worst of all, that it didn’t look the part.

I became so overwhelmed with emotion, because the thought was ‘there was no way I was leading fasts and prayer calls’, to only be left depleted. There were those that felt as if I must’ve been gossiping at 5AM, rather than seeking the face of God. Before I could even blink, the emotion began to extend and multiply from the voices and influences around me. I was now being told that:

• I knew too many things not to have a degree (But clearly, I wasn’t all that!);
• if it was asked of me, it meant I needed to say yes, for my own good and growth;
• my back wasn’t strong enough for ministry;
• and lastly, that I had no control over my emotions.  The list goes and grows on and on. 

I soaked all of this critique in like a sponge. I soon found myself drowning in the thoughts and opinions of others—seeking their approval.  I cringed in severe embarrassment at the laughter of others when I was criticized or publicly admonished. So over time, as my yes became more and more abused, violated, I shutdown, I had no other choice but to protect my yes. My yes was all I had, yet the backlash unknowingly forced my yes to become a no. A loud arrogant, NO!  

But who was I really saying no to?

My no became so strong that I said no to EVERYTHING, even things that I enjoyed doing.  I allowed the external abuse of my yes, to cause me to close my internal door. Closing that door effectively shutting down relationships. Refusing to allow my gift to flourish. I was seated in a spirit of righteous indignation. Maybe I had peaked and missed my time? Maybe it was too late for God to use me! My prayer life dimmed, and I stopped telling the Spirit yes. I lived in NO. A wretched nanny, nanny, nah boo NO. So instead of praying, I sat. I worried. I cried. I even hated.. 

 Today, with these words I realize that I had not forgiven.  But the truth is I never forgave myself for losing my yes. I hadn’t forgiven myself for the abuse I allowed my yes to receive. I never forgave myself for the infractions that I openly took and didn’t defend myself over it. Through false friendships and low self-worth, I allowed my yes to be put through the wringer and didn’t allow it to heal properly. I didn’t allow it to be nourished back to health. I didn’t allow it to recover from the scars. I didn’t allow my yes to revitalize, and the enemy found me here. The enemy found it necessary in his attacks to destroy my yes, and instead of me picking up my strength to fight back, I bowed down and became complacent in being wounded. I became comfortable being bruised. I became comfortable being scarred.  

So yes, my yes is full of scar tissue. My yes has become hard and blemished. My yes doesn’t look the same. My yes, doesn’t even sound the same. Let’s be open and honest, giving a yes—a REAL yes—is hard.  People make it seem like it’s easy, but the truth is, it can be hard to surrender yourself. This yes has to come from a sincere place with a made-up mind. As you get to know me, you will learn that I’ve been married nearly 20 years. In transparency, I submit to you, that I have to remind and sometimes force myself to submit in certain situations. Some things are against my natural will, but because of love, I train myself to submit. Submitting can truly be a sacrifice. That sacrifice resembles that of willing love, and that willing love resembles the place where that YES can be found standing unapologetically. 

With that being said, I have decided to dissect my yes and use the Word of God to cut away the layers of scar tissue.  I invite you to come with me on a journey of self-discovery, openness, honesty, transparency, and transformation. I am not a doctor, but with the help of the Holy Spirit, we will deal with this scar tissue and nurse ourselves back to wholeness—even if it hurts. Recovery is a process, but are you ready to go through it?