Reflecting on Changes

The thin fragile line I walked was long, self inflicted.

I could have stepped off it at anytime, find another way to live. I didn't.

I would love to be able to blame it on genetic circumstance...

That the wrong perpetrated against me is what kept me on that path.

However, it was far more complicated than that.

My entire life I was shown so much cruelty. It formed the idea in me, that this was my only option.

That I did not deserve another path.

In life, the trauma we endure, can leave those especially brutal wounds. You know the ones, the deep well of sorrow, that never seem to heal completely.

It is possible that we ourselves just can't let them be, won't leave them be to heal. Maybe we keep picking at the scabs reopening that wound.

I am still trying to figure that one out.

THE CHANGE

I resigned myself to this path. Over 20 years, resigned to self loathing and despair.

Until, my eldest daughter came to me with hope and excitement in her eyes.

I waited nervously, to hear what it was that made my daughter so hope-filled and excited. Looking back it's odd right? Nervousness was my first emotional reaction.

My daughter said "Mama, I have great news, I have a therapist for you! I worked it out with my therapist, she has a therapist available now! Will you go?"

I was somewhat shocked, fear and panic set in, and I admit, I tried to think of a reason I could not go—any reason at all. My daughter sensed this and interrupted my frenzied thoughts.

"Please mama, I want you happy, I cannot see you hurting anymore, I love you too much for that. Please, you deserve so much more mama. Please go, for yourself mama, so you can live life."

I "deserved" better? This concept was a foreign concept to me. All of my life I had been shown and told I was less than, ruined, worthless and usable.

And in turn, I had done nothing but convince myself that everything bad that ever happened to me, was because I deserved nothing more.

This is what made facing it all so terrifying and irritating. I knew I would have to speak about my life, my childhood, the hurts, abuse and neglect.

And how I had given up on myself. Something I wanted to keep to myself.

The path was pain, but familiar. Sickness is sickness. I knew the truth was that only I could change this course. I wanted life. But feared what it required. I desperately hoped it could be avoided. I wanted it to be "unfixable."

Not because it didn't tear me apart, but because facing it meant more sorrow, pain, and feeling it all, all of it piece, by gut wrenching, piece.

And facing it meant change, acceptance, and lots of self-reflection.

Numbness had saved my life, once upon a time.

Now I had to feel it all. The prospect of working through it all seemed so overwhelming—too much to take. It meant loving myself, unfamiliar territory to say the least.

I was afraid, stressed, sad, angry and despairing. Too long had I felt my value was non-existent.

I tried everything to avoid the therapy, psychiatrist, medication, and talking to anyone about anything.

That succeeded for a while. But it definitely could not last forever. And here was my first born begging me to love myself. To fight for myself because I deserved better.

I love my children, and I wanted to make them happy.

If my daughter believed I deserved more, if my daughter had taken these steps to help me, I would go—for my daughters and my son. For myself, to live and find peace.

That was the first step toward healing.