Warning! This essay might be upsetting, especially if you know me in real life. I wrote it because writing is how I process my emotions. I am sharing this here and hope it may help others who have suffered similarly.
My mother liked to point to the big scar running down from her belly button and remind me how much she suffered when she birthed me.
Suffering was her legacy to me.
Multiple fairies may have been present around my crib the day I was born to bestow wealth, health, beauty, and love. But one, upset that she had not been invited, waved her wand in front of my dimpled cheeks and prophesied that I would know great pain too.
I have known the pain of having a mother whose own inner turmoil monopolized her life and left no space for the needs of a child. Ours was a tumultuous relationship which resulted in estrangement the last 7 years of her life.
I have known the pain of being a little girl coerced over the course of multiple years into inappropriate sexual behaviors by family members old enough to know better. They desecrated what ought to be sanctified and set me on a path of self destruction that lasted through my entire adolescence, starting with my decision, at age 14, to lose my virginity in five unromantic minutes with a loser boyfriend in the bathroom of a stranger’s house. Promiscuity seemed a logical next step. I wanted to matter and the only way I knew how was to let boys take pleasure from my body.
I have know the pain of drugs and alcohol. Blacking out. Passing out. Drowning out the pain.
I have known the pain of being emancipated at age 16, living in my high school’s dorms during the week and on the streets, weekends, sitting in a daze on a night club’s couch until closing and sleeping in public parks or on rocky beaches when it was finally time to leave.
I have known the pain of being woken up at a sleepover by a friend’s old uncle fondling me.
I have known the pain of giving my heart to the wrong guy; the guy who cheated, lied and then beat me up to a pulp the day before my high school final exam.
I graduated with honors anyway (oh the irony) and continued on to college. I hung out with a better crowd there. I matured a little. I quit the drugs and alcohol. I went to the beach instead.
I tried to heal my body. I tried to patch up my battered heart. I tried to mend my soul.
I traveled.
When I was 21, I met the right guy; the guy who still opens the door for me 22 years later and loves me more than I can love myself.
I gladly left all that was familiar behind to follow him, mistakenly believing I’d leave the pain behind too.
I vowed to cherish and honor and be faithful, having no example of what that looked like; the learning curve was steep. It took a few years to become a good wife.
I have known the pain of childbirth.
I have known the pain of a popped tailbone, engorged breasts and cracked nipples.
I have known the pain of sleepless nights.
I’ve also known the pain of being a mother who fears that her own inner turmoil will monopolize her life and leave no space for the needs of her child.
I have known the pain of living through my husband’s diagnosis of an incurable disease.
I have known the pain (and privilege) of being by his side through multiple surgeries and years of grueling recovery.
I thought I could leave all the pain behind but I have not.
Despite an abundance of happy moments, despite the wealth, despite the love, I have not been able to shake the pain away.
I have tried to exercise it away.
I have tried to supplement it away.
I have tried to yoga it away.
Pain has coiled itself comfortably in the pit of my stomach, seemingly there to stay.
For years, it lay dormant, no bigger than a worm but, lately, it has awaken and grown into a monstrous serpent whose appetite is insatiable, but invisible to all but me.
I wonder how many others walk around still bleeding from the arrows of past trauma stuck in their heart? Who among my friends? Who among my neighbors? Who among the strangers?
How many, like me, wake up resigned to carry the ball and chain of their past through yet another day? How many brave little soldiers of the human race get up and instinctively grab for the shield of denial and the spear of anger to face the battle of life?
How many are tired of living like this? I know I am.
Why should I bear the shame that belongs to those who hurt me?
There must be a way to heal. A way to leave the past in the past. A way to put the pain down. There must be a way and I am going to find it.
I am going to go to therapy. I am going to ask for help. I am going to bring all the demons out of the shadows and kill them with light.
My daughter will have a different story.
I can’t protect her from all pain but I will teach her a better way.
This will be MY legacy to her.
This essay was written on 07/28/2019. Since then, I have been practicing meditation daily and exercising 4-6x/week. I have called a therapist and waiting to get an appointment. Slowly but surely, I am doing better.
I’m sorry that you’re struggling and admire your honesty and desire to heal. I’m rooting for you! You certainly made a tremendous difference in my life.
Thank you.
Never too late ! I had the «privilege » to be around while you were facing many of these situations… nothing much I could do, just be there, near you… i’m happy I was. Love, my friend.
Having friends like you is a big reason why I didn’t completely go to the dark side. You were an anchor I could go back to whenever it felt I was drowning. And your parents are my hero for seeing the good in me when I was at my worst. I love you dear friend.
You are so admirable and inspiring. Your strength, honesty, and fortitude are awe-inspiring. I love you. ❤️💕
And I love you 😘
I don’t read your posts straight away when you write them , and I’m just reading it and the next one. I just knew a little piece of your story, but really just the top of the iceberg.
You’re such a courageous person: all the more so now that I know what you’ve been through, and held strong with so much braveness. Really brave to talk about it too. How could you be so strong with such a background story? You’re admirable and of course have all reasons to be “tired” of this. I apologize I didn’t reply before. I know I don’t often get in touch, but I love you my friend and wish you well.
Merci. Human spirit is designed to conquer. I feel much better now thanks to the medication and the talk therapy.