Sometimes we don’t know or understand why we do the things we do. Me, I can tell you some. It’s not what others want to hear but in my world, its truth regardless of whether you want to believe it in your own mind. I remember being told, “I used to think we were being bad parents but doctors told us it was you”. That stings. But the funny thing about it, I’m now 33 years old and I realize-it WAS you.
I’ve taken enough basic psychology classes to know and understand many things about a young mind. Children only think with their cognitive minds. It has to be in black and white. There is no grey area for them. Either you love them or you don’t. Regardless of what you feel as a parent or what you believe in your own mind, it just doesn’t work that way for a child. So when you treat a child a particular way or act negatively, they only have one way to respond. This person doesn’t like me. Maybe they don’t love me.
There are certain parts of my life that I have absolutely no recollection of. I do not remember the birth of my brother nor do I remember about 70% of his life. I’ve been told by many therapists that this is just a part that my mind has chosen to shut down. There are rather large chunks of my life that I don’t remember. But what I do remember was not all that great. I’ve not even shared with my closest family members. Why? Fear maybe. Being called a liar? Most likely. Would they care? Who knows.
Validation. That’s what I want more than anything. Because for once, I’d like my family to look at me and say, “I’m sorry. I had no idea what you went through. I only heard one side of the story.” I would like to share my life and my past without being judged. I would like to tell them what REALLY happened. Out of fear, I cannot and maybe that’s why I still struggle with my demons.
“You, ma’am, are the reason I married that horrible man. Not out of spite, but out of fear and loneliness. You are the reason I left home when I was 16. And you are the reason I spent a better part of my life believing you did not love more nor did you ever want me. I am a mother with my own children now and I cannot fathom why in this world you couldn’t love me the way I love them. What did I ever do to deserve such hatred from you?”
Sounds like a lot of blame. It is. Those are words I’ll probably never be able to speak but I deeply wish I could. I feel them all the time. A confrontation that will never happen because as far as she’s concerned, I just don’t exist. No one does. Do I think I’m a victim? Never. Inside, I’m still a very sad, angry, yet hopeful child who just wants her mommy.
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