I’ve been a bratty baby girl the last week or so. More Daddy’s little devil than His Angel.
High on Daddy’s list of rules for me is Respect Daddy. Followed closely by Don’t Talk Back to Daddy. I’ve been having trouble remembering both this week. And my ass paid the price.
But here’s the thing about physical pain for me. It’s cathartic. It’s a release. It has a beginning and an end. An alpha & omega so to speak. Unlike emotional pain. There is no beginning or end to emotional pain. Especially with Anxiety. My brand doesn’t stop me from doing things, but it endlessly replays every time I misunderstood someone, or said something’s stupid or inappropriate. Every time someone looked at me with disappointment.
It spins around in my head and I picture what I could have done better, or how to not do it the next time. I dream about it, I get lost in figuring out how to be what they want. What they need.
Daddy has been so patient with me. But He’s done being patient. He’s done being understanding when I make the same mistakes over & over again.
If it’s pain I want, if that’s what it takes for me to remember the rules. Then that’s what He’ll do.