THE REALITY
The cries of adulthood: not normal, damaged, desperate, less than perfect, seasonally depressed, hopeless, lonely, fearful, worried, afraid, needing to escape, abandoned, desiring to be rescued, unlovable, too sensitive, unrealistic and unforgiving self standards for physical beauty, not valuable, carrying lies of sole blame and fault.
The honesty of adulthood: intelligent, attractive, creative, accomplished, empathetic, communicative, educated, calculated risk taker, passionate, out going, vivacious, blessed, deep, talented, caring, giving, go-getter, intimate, fun, lovable, appreciative of life.
The fantasy of childhood: deny, bargain, fantasize, believe and rebel. "It's my fault..., otherwise he would of...", "If I..., then it wouldn't of happened", "I will escape to... where it is beautiful and perfect", "Please promise you won't drink tonight, my friend is sleeping over", "When I grow up, no one will ever do this to me again".
The truth of childhood: I was not too sensitive; in contrast I was very perceptive at a young age seeing this horrid home life for what it was. I forced to loose my opinions, thoughts, feelings, beliefs and perceptions. Brainwashed then validated to believe it was me who saw this picture wrong. Nothing I could do, neither right or wrong could/would change his behavior nor make me ever responsible for this hopelessness. I'd lie awake at night in the dark listening to the fights, no wonder I am afraid of the dark and fearful of much. I lived broken promises day after year. Rewriting my world through my Barbie doll being rescued by her prince, wonder why I'm attracted to this reality in relationships? Separate and numb from my feelings and body; a valued survival tool used frequently later life. My mother's strength in words to not repeat this life became etched in my brain like the wall of china. The sights of seeing and living my childhood lended itself to an easier path to follow. Enmeshment with my mothers was her silent way of validating my accurate perception of this sick reality. I was her friend listening to her plans of escape. Too emotionally weak to leave the relationship, she chose self-illness and quietly abandoned the family. Too young, too enmeshed... I hurt to understand.
The reality of adulthood; now why is it I wonder where these... periodic, desperate, reoccurring feelings of hopelessness come from? Laced with harsh self-criticism, self-invalidation and doubt of my own intuition and ability to exercise good judgement? I wonder where and why? I don't think so! I break down these voices and share with them the true reality. I remind myself when they forget... that's right, I am not normal. I'm extra-ordinary, phenomenal, talented, polished, brilliant, luminous, beautiful and blessed. I am blessed with the wisdom to peel back my scarred layers. To cleanse these lifelong wounds. To nurture and repair the damage, to parent and support this growth. To commit to experiencing this found childlike innocence and self-love, the innocence that was taken away and the self-love that was never taught. I now understand. I see my reality clearly.
Francesca
April 6, 1997
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