Something that is interesting to me is that I can’t categorize my trauma.
If you were to ask me about all of the trauma I have experienced I would come up pretty short.
It’s wild how very not okay things can be okay in the mind of someone who has never known anything but.
I feel I am sometimes seen as weak, when my mental weight is too much to carry and I reach out or vent but what it’s really like is, I carry everything and everyone on my back. I protect whoever I can. I shield others and accept the damage. I have been a scapegoat. I have let people who have abused me be forgiven and accept that somehow it must’ve been my fault.
I struggle to find the words for the things I feel regarding people. Some say you just have to find the right people and while I know some very good people, I also tolerate a lot of people I should not. I do more for people who do not deserve me. I’m exhausted from believing that I’m some miserable, bitchy, controlling, overbearing, sad, introvert who does everyone wrong.
That’s not me.
I frequently think well, if so-and-so knew X about me, they would understand Y. I feel like I am forever pleading my case and providing explanations or defenses where they truly are not warranted.
Other peoples opinion of me is none of my business.
When I think about the lies my mother fed to me during the peak of her drug abuse, it makes my stomach turn.
While she was struggling with her own demons, she was passing some of them off to me. I let her convince me that I am no good.
She frequently reminded me, “that’s why you have no friends, that’s why no one can stand you, you’re just a bitch.”
So, I turned bitter toward anyone who tried to be my friend because if I never let anyone in, I wouldn’t ever be hurt again.
“That’s why you’ll always be alone, that’s why your boyfriend cheats on you, that’s why you’re going to end up psychotic and murdering people like your dad (who as it turns out, is not my biological father).”
“You’re just going to end up a big fat miserable bitch like your aunt, if you say you want to kill yourself, do it. You won’t do it.”
“You are the problem, that’s why no one likes you, that’s why none of your siblings want to be around you, that’s why you have nobody and nothing.”
I have believed this shit for over 14 years. I have let it sit inside, dictating my every move. Preventing me from expanding my horizons. Preventing me from believing in myself, trusting in myself, being kind to myself. If I create anything, I critique it and tell myself every single thing that is wrong with it and never allow any praise. I don’t know how to accept compliments. I don’t know how to accept niceness. I feel everyone who is nice to me is manipulating me. I feel like everyone who tries to get close to me is just waiting for the right time to destroy me. I have been lead to believe the world sees me the same way my mother sees me and has taught me to see myself. Damaged goods. Rejected.
When I look at my own child, I can’t even fathom speaking an ill word toward him. In my eyes, he is remarkably perfect in every way. He is brilliant, beautiful, and going to accomplish everything he wants. He is going to soar, and I will forever be his biggest fan and best cheerleader. He will never wonder if he is wanted, worthy, or loved. He will know I will never lead him down a road of abandonment. He can always return to me, he can always be honest and open and be whoever he wants to be and I will be there.
I have never been afraid that I would not be a good parent, especially given my own upbringing, it only encouraged me to defy the odds. The cycle ends here. I will not damage my child like I have been damaged. I will take everything I have learned and experienced and create something beautiful. My love for my child knows no bounds.
History will not repeat itself with me.