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The Controlling Woman, the Puppy, the Cat, and the Cat-like Girl

There once was a girl who had a cat who was just like herself. This cat was spunky, beautiful, feisty, playful, and wild as anything. The girl loved the cat, and they had a million adventures together.

Once upon a time there was a very controlling woman who got a puppy. That puppy was playful and sweet, and very wild. That woman didn’t like the puppy much, and was always telling the puppy what she was doing wrong. The puppy wasn’t allowed to even PLAY, for crying out loud, or be wild. The puppy wasn’t allowed to do much of anything, honestly. The woman raised her kids the same way, and the youngest was a perfectly docile man—which is why the girl ended up not liking him much. He had no mind of his own, and no backbone. The woman had deboned him—leaving him like a limp, useless fish. A codfish, as J.M. Barrie puts it.

Once upon a time the girl got a job working with Special Ed kids. She laughs when she thinks of the woman with the puppy. That woman would have sucked being a paraeducator (sometimes the girl herself wonders how she manages it. It’s a God-thing, honestly). You can’t control ANYTHING in a classroom full of autistic kids. You just can’t. They all have their quirks. They all have their areas of “expertise” in driving you batty. It’s not a “normal” classroom, but it is one of the most rewarding and beautiful places in the whole word. I love those kids to death. They are truly special—so special to God.

You can’t be a controlling person in this world. Eventually you’ll run into people who refuse to let you control them. Like me—the woman ran into me. Poor her. Poor, poor her.
But anyways. Back to talking about the Special Ed classroom.

The woman would have had anxiety attacks, and totally freaked out, and the children would have hated her, and she probably would have gotten kicked out of her job.

This is just assumption though. The girl herself has controlling-like tendencies, but she’s learned that you just can’t be controlling, and that you shouldn’t be anyway—it’s just not cool. People deserve better than that. The girl also has anxiety, a bit like the woman, but she’s learning to give her anxious thoughts to God, and just not worry about the rest. Worry is just not worth, well, the worry.

Once upon a time the girl, who was so much like her cat, became friends with the woman with the puppy. That woman was a piece of work, unfortunately (she’d been through a lot though as a child, so that was part of it. Knowing this helps the girl forgive her. Her stories were her own. But, believe me, she’d been through some rough stuff).

The woman had to have everything within her control. Everyone else was always in the wrong—never her. She controlled everyone perfectly, and they fell under her sway. She labeled other people as “cold,” and didn’t understand why they didn’t enjoy being around her. Those in her family she couldn’t control, she labeled. She craved love with a deep need. She needed God-love. But the girl doesn’t think she recognized that. Instead, the woman sought that God-love from her youngest son, the girl’s friend. And when the son’s affection for the girl grew to be too much, the woman started whispering lies in her son’s ear, until he, in time, threw the girl out of his life—which hurt really badly, because the girl had loved that family, and wanted nothing more than to be loved and accepted by them.

She had walked with them through their Valley of the Shadow of Death, of their mom’s sickness, surgery, and recovery. The woman—mother of her boyfriend—had looked so frail, and all the girl wanted to do was take care of her and love her and her family.

But. Yes. The woman was controlling. And the girl was like a cloud and couldn’t be pinned down. The woman tried to hold everyone under her sway. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t work with the girl. Eventually, the woman kicked the girl out. You see, the girl was just like the girl’s cat—she was like most cats, actually—she was uncontrollable and as independent as the day was long. She didn’t enjoy being called names, or being verbally put down. She didn’t enjoy feeling excluded, or scolded, or made fun of, or watching as her guy friend was pushed around by his mother. She didn’t enjoy the passive aggressive way the woman tried to selfishly get her own way.

The girl hates passive aggression. She prefers to battle head-on. Passive aggression is like battling barbs that are words, and actions that elude you and confuse you. Passive aggression is cowardice, honestly. It is seeking to get your way in an underhanded way. The girl had never met a passive aggressive person before. Now the girl knows exactly what passive aggressiveness looks like.

The girl had been a friend to the woman. It was the woman who was the one acting as the Enemy wanted her to act. The girl was a child of God. The girl had not wanted the woman to die, and had helped the woman’s son through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, during the severity of his depression when the whole family feared for the woman’s health. She thinks she may have saved the life of the woman’s son, with her enduring and stubborn cheerfulness, and the God-love and joy she gave him. And if that was the sole purpose of her time spent in that family, then that is enough.

That is enough. Everything is all about eternity. It’s all about eternity. “I am a stepping stone in the light of eternity,” the girl often tells herself. And it’s true. It’s true.

The woman tried to get the girl’s friendship back once though, after she had succeeded in driving the girl out of her family. She wrote the girl a lengthy note, and in her usually passive aggressive way, had the cowardice to leave it on the girl’s truck for her to find instead of giving it to the girl in person. The girl read the first line, laughed even as she hurt, and then tore the note up and spread it to the four winds. The woman had only been trying to guilt the girl into returning to her “counsel.” Nothing more.

Passive aggressive people are ridiculous. The girl likes to battle head on. Passive aggressive people have no excuses for their behavior. They’re just manipulative and controlling. Uncool.

Girls who are very similar to cats, don’t put up with nonsense like that.

Girls are sometimes in a lot of pain. And unfortunately, our pasts leave imprints on us, and those imprints are hard to overcome. Hard, but not impossible. Because with God, all things are possible. ALL things.

It is a year, nearly to the day, that the girl began to call the boy her guy friend. By December, it will be a year to the day that the woman convinced her son to throw the girl out of his life. “Let mommy handle it,” she must have told him, for he refused to see the girl, and said she could see his mom instead.

A year, and still, the hurt is raw and aching. Still, the girl could spend hours just crying over it all. The girl wishes they had treated her different. She had not deserved the hurt they inflicted on her tender and loving heart.

She hadn’t deserved it.

God will deal with them. He will judge their actions.

Lord, defend the brokenhearted.

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