Fragile - Handle With Care

That's me, fragile.
I didn't think I was fragile until recently. I had always thought I could do pretty much whatever I needed to do. I thought I was strong and mentally keen enough to handle all of life's curves.
My dad was an alcoholic and my mother was a classic co-dependent. There were three of us children - Me, Rhonda and Eddy. Rhonda is a year younger than I and Eddy is five years younger. Rhonda and I were a team. We shared a room, shared clothes and shared a locker in high school. We were each others best friends. Eddy was clearly mom's favorite child, and it really didn't bother Rhonda or I because we had each other.
I'm pretty sensitive, I admit. I take everything personal.
What I heard when Dad was doing his usual chastising, was that we were lucky to be his children because no one else would want us. It seemed a common theme after a weekend of heavy drinking. He may have only said it once, but I remember it clearly. I never felt good enough for Dad during those years. And Mom - well she was in her own little hell and we just lived around her.
An odd opportunity afforded itself when I was about 19. I met a man who was going to Alaska to guide for big game. I couldn't think of any place further away from home than Alaska, and I needed to get away. When this man said "I think we'd get hired faster if we were married", I agreed. I clearly wasn't thinking straight and I didn't listen to family when they asked me not to go through with it.
We married quickly and headed for Alaska in an old pickup once owned by Union Pacific. It was pencil yellow and he (WP) had built a homemade camper out of plywood on the back. Inside was a bed and a cook stove. I learned how to build a fire, how to cook over an open fire, hunt, make bread from scratch, make butter, can, live without electricity and running water, and ultimately, survive. What made me think I could do this? I did what I had to do though, with many emotional scars from marrying the wrong person.
As a divorced woman with two little girls, we lived in low income housing and our payday treat was pizza from Dominos. I scraped every penny to put food on the table, which more often than not was Ramen noodles. I took a job as an assistant catering manager for a large hotel/motel in Cheyenne. The hours were from eight in the morning to whenever the party was over, which could be around 2 am. When my health began to suffer and I was truly afraid of dying, I quit my job and took another at a mortgage company.
During this time, I met another man. We had dated for about a year and a half when we married. I so wanted to be married to the right man. This man was rescuing me. I had been a failure with the first marriage and now I was a used person with baggage. I welcomed the chance to prove I could be the person needed to truly make this a partnership.
He was a minister so I worked hard on being the perfect minister's wife. What on earth made me think I could do this, having not grown up in a Christian home? His father was also a minister and I learned I could never hold a candle to his mom, who was truly gifted in that area. But I tried.
We were not compatable at all. The only thing we had in common was my girls, who now numbered four. His parenting styles with the two older girls only compounded the tension in the house. We didn't fight because I avoid confrontation at all costs. All costs.
It cost me so much.
Unfortunately, we lived a lie for 20 years. The picture we painted was that of a happy Christian family. We moved from town to town and kept up the charades until I finally broke and filed for divorce.
I'm a very private person and no one at work even knows I'm divorced. But when I have shared my story with my counselor, she tells me I'm one of the strongest women she's ever met.
I've built walls to protect myself only to find tiny fissures in the facade.
There are days when I know I'm healing. Long time friends and family will say "It's good to hear you laugh again" or "I can see a sparkle in your eye I haven't seen for years." This makes me sad because I didn't realize how far down I had gone. I knew I was extremely depressed but I couldn't find my way out of my hell hole.
I will not put all blame on the three men in my life - I have to say I have learned that I also am to blame - for not fighting for what was right.
While I'm healing, I feel like I need that big red sticker plastered to my forehead - actually, over my heart might be a better place. "Fragile - Handle With Care"
I can do this, too, right?
With God's help, I can do anything.