The Couch Scene

So there’s this scene in MAID on Netflix. Alex, the main character and victim of domestic violence, sinks into a couch and into a deep dark abyss.

Over the following weeks, she is numb. No emotion on her face. Blank.

And when the producers give you a glimpse into what is going on in her head, she’s lost and lying at the bottom of the abyss. She’s going through the motions and she’s taking care of her daughter but she’s utterly abandoned, crushed into nothingness, inside of herself.

While my story parallels much of what Alex went through and there were so many things I could relate to, nothing resonated so deeply with me as those scenes.

The darkness. The emptiness. The loss of any hope. The pain. Pain so agonizing you don’t even feel it because if you could feel it, you wouldn’t survive.

So it’s there…

but you’re not.

You’re not even you. You are no one.

You’re alone in a deep, dark secret place that no one can reach. No one even knows you’re there.

Sometimes you break down. But not in front of anyone, no.

In the car, alone.

The sobbing that won’t stop. The searing pain in your chest. The question of how will I go on? How will I keep breathing? How will I survive this?

You know you just can’t. You’re not going to make it.

But you have to, because of your daughter. She needs you.

So you wipe the tears away, take some deep breaths, get out of your car and walk into work. And you teach. And you talk. And you walk. And you breathe in and out.

When you leave work, you mom. You mom hard and love your daughter fiercely.

But on the inside, you’re still alone.

You’re dying.

And you don’t know how anything will ever change.

Unlike Alex in MAID, I was blessed to have family and friends supporting me. And I had Jesus.

And in the darkest, ugliest, most savage moments, when you’re in so deep, you can’t even see a ray of sunshine, you call out:

Jesus.

Jesus.

Jesus.

Help me.

That’s it. That’s all you can say. No fancy words. No idea of even what you would say, if you could articulate an actual sentence. From the bottom of abyss, the only words are Jesus, help me.

Somehow, it’s enough.

Somehow, the searing pain loses some of it’s raging hot fire.

There’s not peace yet. Not hope. But you’re able to take another breath, and another, when just moments before you couldn’t breathe.

A strange sort of something akin to calm settles on you.

And you know that you will keep moving forward.

No idea where you’re going, but you will keep going.

It’s enough, just enough.

If you’re in a deep, dark abyss, call out to Jesus. Just His name is enough. He will come to you. He will help you. And you will, one day, climb out of the pit. This won’t last forever. You will live again.

In the meantime though, just keep saying His name. He hears you. He sees you. He loves you.

And it will be enough.

If you’re in an abusive situation and need help, here are some resources:

Click: Domestic Violence Hotline

Call: 800.799.SAFE (7233)

2 Comments on “The Couch Scene

  1. It saddens me to think of what you endured and at the same time I admire you for being strong enough to get to safety and for how you are taking care of your daughter.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: