It is uncomfortable for me to write sometimes. I feel myself recoiling from wanting to write my truth. I can feel guilt wanting to make me stop, and go make another cup of coffee, because I know that much of what I write about my childhood is so negative, and sometimes hard to believe.
Much of what I experienced with my mother was in private. The dysfunction played out like a secret production. She and I were the only performers. Through my third eye, or what most would refer to the eyes of self awareness, I see now that I was simply a manifestation of all the nervous, disappointed, frustrated, angry, disillusioned, self loathing energy that was truly her own.
My mother was an abandoned, neglected, emotionally and psychologically starved child. How could she have ever been able to mirror back to me, what her 19 year old child Self did not possess? It would have defied law.
These truths of mine are not about revenge. In fact, they are about forgiveness, understanding, compassion, and empathy. But I realize that many unaware others may not be able to see the forest through the battered limbs of so many trees.
My mother and father infected me with rules that did little more than help me disown my Self.
When my father took his frustration out on my mother, and as she took it, and swallowed up her own disappointment and sadness so not to upset him any further, and when my father refused to apologize for hurting my mother, the rules that were getting ingrained in me, would be the groundwork for the belief systems that governed my very existence.
In my house I learned that the only persons feelings that mattered were the ones in charge. I learned that it was of the utmost importance to swallow feelings, especially ones that might make someone else angry. I learned that it was acceptable to be called names when no one was looking. I learned that talking about feelings was unacceptable. I learned that crying was a form of weakness. I learned that my truth was unimportant. I learned that men come first. I learned that pleasing a man was more important than a man pleasing a woman. I learned that a woman should not expect to be understood. I learned that women clean, cook, and take care of others. I learned that women do not take care of themselves. I learned that what a man thought of me, was more important than what I thought of me.
