Name Change or Changed Perspective?
I remember it being one of the first few sessions I had with my therapist. I was externally processing an inappropriate relationship I had with a superior.
Sitting across from my counselor, heart unbelievably heavy from the recent decision to breakup with my boyfriend (who I was convinced I was going to marry), I’m giving her a play by play of events.
After each moment of memory, I added my own critical commentary; berating and holding myself responsible for each thing that transpired. I felt much condemnation from the role I played although the person I was involved with had a major part to play in that entanglement.
The emotional self mutilation must have been too much to witness because my therapist felt the need to stop me in the middle of my retelling the story to tell me the following:
Danielle, stop. I am not your judge. It’s my job to help you. You telling me this story and beating yourself up is not helpful. How would you have known any better?
After that necessary interruption, I was undone. All I had the energy to do was cry because I never thought I would be in that position. I mean what committed person goes into a relationship thinking, “I’m going to hurt my boyfriend by being involved with someone else?” I mean, I surely didn’t. I cried because accompanied with the utter shock of being in this position, was the purest shame.
Shame because I believed that I should have known better. Shame because I felt fooled. Shame because I was abused. Because this abuse was masked so masterfully, I couldn’t even detect such behavior. So ultimately, shame because I felt incredibly stupid.
That assertion by my therapist gave me the space and afforded me the opportunity to be the following:
It gave me permission to be human. Taking pride in my internal moral code, I could not fathom being corrupted. That actually sounds quite ridiculous now if you are one who views things through the lens of the Word. So I took on a whole new posture: the posture of being a work in progress AND being okay with that. I took a lot of pride in carrying heavy loads; but if an easier way is provided, why take the harder route? What was I trying to prove anyway? And to whom?
It gave me the space to be a total mess. My therapist saw me in all my vulnerability, validated that, and nurtured me. She didn’t provide her input or advice in that moment. She didn’t grimace or wince at any detail at any point in the story. She listened and nudged me to keep on going. Keep putting a voice to my story; and in turn seizing my freedom.
Finally, it gave me permission to acknowledge my gift of limitations. In understanding my limitations, I will not always be perfect. In understanding my limitations, I understand also my boundaries. That was a multilayered revelation. I did not have to take on the responsibility of the WHOLE situation, because that whole situation was not my burden to bear. It was a shared burden. It helped me to identify where my responsibility ended and his began. This point alleviated a lot of stress for me in other relationships I held, both professional and personal.
The thing that struck me the most about her interruption was the statement, I am not your judge.
Now if you all do a simple search on Google, you will see that “Danielle,” the feminine version of “Daniel,” means God is my judge. A trusted church leader, lead me to believe as a tween that my name was a condemnation. I would never want that name, they said. That had a lasting impact on me as it influenced my view of God and how I believed that God viewed me. That whole time until that therapy session I emphasized the wrong word in the definition of my name: God is my judge. Later on, I realized that this leader’s double life was what tainted their view of God and consequently their relationship with God. Their situation colored their interpretation. My name essentially convicted them.
As that profound statement left my therapist’s lips, I felt a veil lifted and my mind cleared of the fog. Something was unlocked on a level too deep to explain. In that moment there was that flashback to that earlier memory, and I put the proper emphasis on the right word: God is my judge. Because God is my judge, I will not place such high value on the opinions of mere humans. Because God is my judge, I am loved and deeply known. Because God is my judge, I answer to Him and no one else. This doesn’t mean I do not submit to authority; but out of reverence to the One who is my ultimate authority, I submit to the authority in the given spaces that I occupy.
This session helped me to relieve myself the responsibility of being my own judge and to disregard the judgement of others because the One who is my just Judge doesn’t condemn me. He loves me; and He loves me wholly. From the inside out.
Signed, Dani J.
