Brie Gowen

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You’re Not the Man (Or Father) Who Left You

August 7, 2018 by brieann.rn@gmail.com

By all accounts I grew up in a wonderful, loving home. My Daddy was the sort of protective guy who threatened the fella who took me on my first real date that he’d break his legs if he acted inappropriate, drank alcohol while driving, or brought me home past curfew. At the time I remember feeling kinda embarrassed, but honestly, and deep down, I recall feeling like I was floating out the door on a cloud. And it wasn’t because the star quarterback was taking me out to a movie. It was because I knew my Dad really loved me. Yet still…

As the years went by I would grow up always needing that feeling, that emotion that told me I was loved, I was worthy, that I was something special. I was always that clingy girlfriend that asked “whatcha thinking” in the hopes the guy would answer back he was thinking about me. I was the girl who ended up giving her body away, over and over, in an attempt to feel beautiful, desirable, and precious in some sorta way. I craved love like most craved water. Even though I’d grown up adored by my mother and adoptive father, it still wasn’t enough. For some crazy reason it’s the people that don’t love you that stick with you the most. I wish that wasn’t so.

My biological father had left numerous times, but the last being when I was seven. When my mother remarried, and later my Dad wanted to adopt me, it seemed that my biological dad had no problem relinquishing his parental rights. On the surface I was thrilled to have a present father who cared so much for me, and even in my heart I was glad. But deep down, in those dark, rooted places I was hurt. Rejection like a knife dug inside me, the blade turning cruelly back and forth.

Even as an adult woman, the little girl inside me would ask in the night, “why was I so easy to give up? What is it about me that made not loving me so easy?!”

I didn’t want to feel that way! I never wanted to play the victim, and during my brave times I would vehemently deny any hurt or feelings of abandonment and unworthiness. I would play strong, and I would play it well. But in retrospect I can see that the pain caused by the man who leaves you is like a scab that never really heals. It looks fine from a distance, but if you get up close and personal you can see it’s all red, soft, and missing pieces. For so long my heart was like that. Missing pieces.

It wasn’t like it healed properly either. It just set up a cycle. A cycle of me searching for love in all the wrong places, seeking acceptance and affection, creating my personality based on the people around me, people pleasing, never being true to myself, and erroneously basing my self worth on how someone else felt about me.

I recently was talking about divorce with my aunt, and I mentioned how it took years to get over the pain of a broken marriage. Even though my life had moved on, I can still recall one day, three years status post divorce, wondering what it was about me that made my ex-husband want to leave me. A happy second marriage with a great guy, an adorable daughter in my arms, and for some strange reason that little girl inside me would rear her head and ask again, “what was it about me that made not loving me so easy?”

I had spent over thirty years thinking I was the man (or men) who left me. That my identity was somehow built around that. The devil had spent years whispering in my ear that I was the girl who was easy to give up, that I was the awkward teen who got dumped the week of prom, that I was the one-night-stand, that I was the woman whose husband left her, that I was anything but who I really was. Somewhere between knowing about God and really getting to know Him I discovered something. I discovered that I wasn’t the man who left me; I was the creation that God made me to be. My identity wasn’t based on what man or the world said, but what the Lord said about me. His Word sang it over and over to my broken heart, and the more I listened to His song, the more I believed it, the more I healed, and the more able I was to see myself through His eyes.

God said I was His workmanship (Ephesians 2:10), That He knew me before He formed me (Jeremiah 1:5), that I was chosen (1 Peter 2:9), that He had a great future in mind for me (Jeremiah 29:11), that I was adopted (Romans 8:14-15), that I was redeemed and His (Isaiah 43:1), that I was wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), that I was holy and beloved (Colossians 3:12), that I was created after the likeness of God (Ephesians 4:24), that I was the work of His hand (Isaiah 64:8), that I was precious in His eyes, honored, and He loved me (Isaiah 43:4), that He had numbered every tear I had ever shed (Psalm 56:8), that He rejoiced over me (Zephaniah 3:17), and that I was worth dying for (John 3:16)!

It was a long journey I took from rejection to redemption, but once I saw the truth of who I was in Christ, I never fell for the lie that I was who the world labeled me to be. My identity was in Jesus, I was righteous, totally and completely loved, despite my faults, and I realized that love would never fail me.

How Satan Steals a Woman’s Identity

July 16, 2015 by brieann.rn@gmail.com

Overall I would say I like being me, and I like the hats I wear. I go by many titles in this world, I hold many callings in my life, and I am blessed to have the opportunity to carry out several roles. But it’s easy with all that to lose track of who I am, what’s important, and which things define me. In fact, it’s common for the enemy to steal my identity, sew seeds of confusion, and trick me into believing absolute lies. 

Are you falling for it too? Here’s what I’m talking about. 

For example, I am a wife, and it’s one of my favorite callings in this world. I enjoy my role as my husband’s helpmate, but I think sometimes I could do better. I get tired, I get cranky, and I’ve been known to blow a gasket over minor details. My moods swing, my patience isn’t always present, and I absolutely cannot understand all of my husband’s behaviors. Seriously, I don’t know why he does some of the things he does, and in my confusion I get frustrated. 

I may say things I don’t mean. I certainly think them at times. Or I employ the dreaded silent treatment. I fall so short of the shining Proverbs 31 woman! Sometimes I am certain I’m a failure as a wife. 

But at least the children adore me, right? Well, most of the time. I love being a mom, but it’s also so hard!

I yell too much. I really should clean less and play more often. I’ve got to start reading them more books. And don’t get me started on Biblical lessons. I really need to step that up if I want them to be warriors for God. While I’m at it, I need to stop giving them so much junk food. I know ramen is easy, but I saw on Facebook that it causes cancer. So great; I’m giving my kids cancer. 

I love staying home with them, but as frazzled and short-tempered as I can get it’s really best that I do go to work some. I work as a registered nurse, and I know I really have the opportunity to positively impact lives in that field. Except a lot of the time I don’t. 

Nursing is difficult, and I get flustered at time constraints, personality clashes, and the physical and emotional toll the vocation takes on me. In the stresses of the position I mess up, slip up, and honestly sometimes just straight up slack. After all these years doing it you’d think I’d possess more knowledge or better skills, but I feel like a loser many a day on the job. 

And heck, between my home life and work I have absolutely zero time to commit to my other relationships. I’m a terrible friend, and my closest ones happen to be family. I guess they’re the only ones who could dare put up with me long term. 

I try to be kind always, and to be open to how I might be able to touch the lives of others, but honestly, I don’t know if I’m able. I don’t know if I’m capable, and I certainly don’t think I’m worthy. I desire to let God use me, but how can He? My past is so tainted I’m not sure why anyone would listen. 

So basically I’m a subpar wife, my children are forced to put up with a temperamental mother, and my patients are stuck with an average nurse. I stink as a friend, and my witness is that of a dirty sinner struggling to live up to the reputation my Savior has set for me. I’m a mess! 

Or maybe, just maybe I’m more. Perhaps I am known by the title of wife and mother, but that’s not all that I am. And I’m certainly not defined by my worst moments in those roles. I am more. 

I’m a busy friend and a frazzled nurse, but I am also the kind, loving heart the Lord has placed inside me. So even when I fall short, I am not my shortcomings. 

Life in this world is a challenging one, and in my moments of stress or self-doubt Satan will try and steal my identity. He will tell me I’m a bad mom or an undesirable wife. He will find where I feel my most weak, and he will pick at that slowly like a tender scab. He’ll often do it so quietly that I’m unaware of his schemes, unaware until I wake up one day certain that my failure to obtain perfection makes me less. 

But I am more. 

I am more than where I fall short, where I try to succeed, and in all the varied roles I possess. I am more because God says so. 

Romans 8:1

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

2 Corinthians 5:17

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.

If God’s word is true, which I believe it to be, then I am more than my past mistakes. I am new. I am redeemed. And I am free. Yes, I’m a wife, mother, nurse, and friend, but above all things I am a child of the King. Above all things I am forgiven, and in Him I am brand new, white as snow, and precious. I am precious. 

So when I fall short, and I will, I can learn from my mistakes, but I will not feel defeated. I will remember that I am more than my failures; I am His. Those things do not define me; Jesus does. 

Rather than feeling I am less because of my past or what I fail to do, I can know that I am more because He lives in me. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I can feel peace. Instead of feeling defeat, I will be overcome with joy. I will remember that my identity rests in Him, that He died so that I may live, and live abundantly. 

Meet Brie

Brie is a forty-something wife and mother. When she's not loving on her hubby or playing with her three daughters, she enjoys cooking, reading, and writing down her thoughts to share with others. She loves traveling the country with her family in their fifth wheel, and all the Netflix binges in between. Read More…

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