Portrait in Linen

I should’ve made a counseling appointment a long, long time ago. I should’ve heeded the doctor and begun cognitive the first day I filled the prescription.

I told them (husband-and-wife counseling team–fantastic feedback, because I get the male & female perspective), “I consider myself to be pretty insightful. I analyze these things from every possible angle, over and over again, and inevitably, I hit a wall in my thinking. By that point, I’ve exhausted all my personal resources, and there’s still no resolution. That’s why I’m here.”

I went armed with a simple list of the top four “issues” and points of contention–the greatest sources of stress and discord. I mentioned M and I have pretty well come to a common ground on three of them, but we could come to no resolution on the fourth–the kids’ dress. So that’s what we talked about.

Of course, I didn’t go in there expecting the counselors to support my point of view and coach me in ways to “change M.” I knew we’d focus on my part in the whole dynamic. But I never expected to delve so deeply into my own past, neuroses, and motivations.

I think this is the primary reason why I’ve been unable to find any “break-throughs” in my thinking. My past, neuroses, and motivations are something my psyche successfully holds at bay behind a wall of denial, justification, and rationalization. My mind is so skilled at filtering and blocking, it takes no effort at all to avoid “going there” on so many issues. It would take a thoughtful, respectable, fearless guide to lead me into that dark territory–someone (or someones) I could respect and trust, knowing there would be no ulterior motive or prejudgment. The counselors fit the bill–husband and wife practitioners, Christians, with five (or more) children of their own. I have no doubt God led me to their office.

The first appointment was painful. When asked, I tried to explain my reasons for our choice of dress and how I came to the decision. It was so, so difficult for me, because it wasn’t a logical decision in the first place, but a purely spiritual conviction. How does one explain a purely spiritual conviction, except to say, “God led me to that”? Especially for a person who is already into the habit of questioning her own sanity and credibility?

I was completely inarticulate on that point. I felt utterly vulnerable, silly, ignorant, exposed. I almost felt my heart and mind physically kicking against opening up that door. The anxiety was overwhelming. I felt sweaty and light-headed, dry mouth, a bit shaky. And there was nothing I could say, except “I’m not sure–I just felt the strong conviction to do so.”

So we went back to how things were “before,” what kind of person I was in the past. I admitted I dressed extremely immodestly and took great pride in my appearance, that I was grossly vain and enjoyed the attention. At the same time, I felt a pressure for my appearance to be “pleasing,” because it gained me immediate acceptance, as opposed to immediate rejection because I was “weird” or “foreign” or “inferior” or “not good enough” in other ways. Being pleasing to the eye was a way to gain acceptance without having to do so in other ways, like being witty or charismatic or intelligent, or by having a lot of material wealth or style.

I admitted that kind of behavior led me to worse things, and that I’ve never forgotten that period in life before I was wholly committed to the Lord.

“Is it possible you feel…unclean?” they asked.

I think I might’ve cried at that point. Those words seemed to come straight from Heaven, like a great door opening up and a shaft of blinding light pouring through.

Do I feel unclean? Yes, yes I do. And by covering myself and my family with clothes, it’s possible I may be trying to “cover up” my sins.

Through the course of the session, we touched on how the dress rule affects the kids, their reactions and questions about it. I explained they question me often and seem doubtful or uncertain at my answers, or they express their dissatisfaction with the rules. This shows a lack of understanding on their part, which reveals I am completely missing the mark–trying to instill in them a humility and consciousness of purity. Instead, all they see is the rule. I’ve inadvertently made an earthly issue out of an issue of faith.

“Your homework,” they said, “is to prayerfully consider how your concern with modesty relates to your anxiety, and how your rules based on your conviction may set up your children for rebellion in the future.”

I left the appointment feeling rattled and shamed, embarrassed that I’d spoken about my past and my fears to another person, despising myself that I might be doing anything to drive my children farther away from God, instead of leading them into His arms.

I felt a tiny bit of triumph in that we had introduced something new into my thinking, that there were indeed positive possibilities, with time and prayer and lots of reflection.

I admit there were moments when I considered canceling the next appointment and swearing off counseling forever. But I guess the larger part of me knew I felt that way because we were getting somewhere. I knew facing these things–whatever they might be–would be a painful process, and not easy. So I resolved to do what I was told and keep my next appointment.